Orval, or The Fool of Time | ||
343
“Les espics sont à Ceres.”
Ceres hath her harvests sweet:
Chloris hath the young green grass:
Woods for Fauns with cloven feet:
His green laurel Phœbus has:
Minerva hath her olive tree:
And the pine's for Cybele.
Chloris hath the young green grass:
Woods for Fauns with cloven feet:
His green laurel Phœbus has:
Minerva hath her olive tree:
And the pine's for Cybele.
Sweet sounds are for Zephyr's wings:
Sweet fruit for Pomona's bosom:
For the Nymphs are crystal springs:
And for Flora bud and blossom:
But sighings, weepings, sad ideas,
These alone are Cytherea's.
Sweet fruit for Pomona's bosom:
For the Nymphs are crystal springs:
And for Flora bud and blossom:
But sighings, weepings, sad ideas,
These alone are Cytherea's.
Orval, or The Fool of Time | ||