Poems (Cary)/Wood Nymphs

​
WOOD NYMPHS.
Wood nymphs, that do hereaboutsDwell, and hold your pleasant routes,When beneath her cloak so white,Holding close the black-eyed Night?Twilight, sweetly voluble,Acquaints herself with shadows dull;While above your rustic camp,Hesperus, his pallid lampFor the coming darkness trims,From the gnarléd bark of limbsRough and crabbed-slide to view!I have work for you to do.
To this neighborhood of shadeCame I, the most woful maidThat did ever comfort gleanFrom the songs of birds, I ween;Or from rills through hollow meads,Washing over beds of reeds,When, to vex with more annoy,Found I here this sleeping boy. ​I must learn some harmless art,That will bind to mine his heart.Never creature of the airSaw I in a dream so fair.Wood nymphs, lend your charméd aid—Underneath the checkered shadeOf each tangled bough that stirsTo the wind, in shape of burs,Rough and prickly, or sharp thorn—Whence the tame ewe, newly shorn,Stained with crimson, hurries oft,Bleating toward the distant croft—Dew of potency is foundThat would leave my forehead crownedWith the very chrisms of joy—The sweet kisses of this boy.These quaint uses you must know—Poets wise have writ it so.
When the charm so deftly planned,Shall be wrought, I have in hand,Work your nimble crew to please,Mixed alone of sweetnesses.This it is to bring to meFairest of all flowers that be—Oxlips red, and columbines,Ivies, with blue flowering twines,Flags that grow by shallow springs,Purple, prankt with yellow rings;Slim ferns, bound in golden sheaves;Mandrakes, with the notched leaves; ​Pink and crowbind, nor o'erpassThe white daisies in the grass.Of the daintiest that you pull,I will tie a garland full,And upon this oaken boughDropping coolest shadows now,Hang it, 'gainst his face to swing,Till he wakes from slumbering;Evermore to live and loveIn this dim consenting grove.
Shaggy beasts with hungry eyes—Ugly, spotted, dragonflies—Limber snakes drawn up to rings,And the thousand hateful thingsThat are bred in forests drear,Never shall disturb us here;For my love and I will seeOnly the sweet companyOf the nymphs that round me glideWith the shades of eventide.
Crow of cock, nor belfry chime,Shall we need to count the time—Tuneful footfalls in the flowersRinging out and in the hours.
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.