 | The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Croly |  |
159
NOON.
“Οικια τεττιγων, ενδιοι ακρεμονες.”
Come, ye brown oaks, and stoop your heavy boughs,
Making sweet eve around my sultry brows!
Wave your white beauty, lilies; hyacinths sigh;
And, woodbine, from your blossom'd canopy,
Stirring the smoothness of this quiet stream,
Shed on my eyes some deep, Elysian dream.
And come, thou young and silken-pinion'd Wind,
That the pale, virgin May, sends forth to find
Her flowers, in Winter's frozen bosom sleeping;
Wing round this leafy bed, in whispers creeping
Like softest music on my slumb'ring ear;
Until the murmur of the grasshopper,
160
Tell me that Day is faint, and nigh to death.
And the small stars are waking, one by one;
And to fair Thetis' couch the weary Sun is gone!
| The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Croly | |