The Lady's Song.[1]

        A Choir of bright beauties in spring did appear,
        To choose a May-lady to govern the year;
        All the nymphs were in white, and the shepherds in green;
        The garland was given, and Phyllis was queen:
        But Phyllis refused it, and sighing did say,
        I'll not wear a garland while Pan is away.

        While Pan and fair Syrinx are fled from our shore,
        The Graces are banish'd, and Love is no more:
        The soft god of pleasure, that warm'd our desires,
        Has broken his bow, and extinguish'd his fires;
        And vows that himself and his mother will mourn,
        Till Pan and fair Syrinx in triumph return.

        Forbear your addresses, and court us no more;
        For we will perform what the Deity swore:
        But if you dare think of deserving our charms,
        Away with your sheephooks, and take to your arms;
        Then laurels and myrtles your brows shall adorn,
        When Pan, and his son, and fair Syrinx return.

John Dryden

John Dryden was an influential English poet, literary critic, translator, and playwright who was made England’s first Poet Laureate in 1668. His work dominated the literary life of Restoration England and he is seen as a major figure in the literary history of the period. Dryden's notable works include the satirical poem 'Absalom and Achitophel' and the mock-heroic 'Mac Flecknoe.'

John Dryden

Songs In Albion And Albanius.

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

To Mr Granville,[1] On His Excellent Tragedy Called "Heroic Love."

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

Prologue To The Rival Ladies.

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

Satire On The Dutch.[1]

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Songs In King Arthur.

Where a battle is supposed to be given behind the scenes, with drums, trumpets, and military shouts and excursions; after which, the Britons, expressing their joy for the victory, sing this song of triumph.


I.

    Come, if you dare, our trumpets sound;
    Come, if you dare, the foes rebound:
    We come, we come, we come, we come,
    Says the double, double, double beat of the thundering drum.
        Now they charge on amain,
        Now they rally again:
    The gods from above the mad labour behold,
    And pity mankind, that will perish for gold.
    The fainting Saxons quit their ground,
    Their trumpets languish in the sound:
    They fly, they fly, they fly, they fly;
    Victoria, Victoria, the bold Britons cry.
        Now the victory's wo...

John Dryden

Arcades.

I. SONG.

Look Nymphs, and Shepherds look,
What sudden blaze of majesty
Is that which we from hence descry
Too divine to be mistook:
This this is she
To whom our vows and wishes bend,
Heer our solemn search hath end.

Fame that her high worth to raise,
Seem'd erst so lavish and profuse,
We may justly now accuse
Of detraction from her praise,
Less then half we find exprest,
Envy bid conceal the rest.

Mark what radiant state she spreds,
In circle round her shining throne,
Shooting her beams like silver threds,
This this is she alone,
Sitting like a Goddes bright,
In the center of her light.
Might she the wise Latona be,
Or the towred Cybele,
Mother of a hunderd gods;
Juno dare's not give her odds;
Who had t...

John Milton

Elegy V. Anno Aetates 20. On The Approach Of Spring.

Time, never wand'ring from his annual round,
Bids Zephyr breathe the Spring, and thaw the ground;
Bleak Winter flies, new verdure clothes the plain,
And earth assumes her transient youth again.
Dream I, or also to the Spring belong
Increase of Genius, and new pow'rs of song?
Spring gives them, and, how strange soere it seem,
Impels me now to some harmonious theme.
Castalia's fountain and the forked hill^[1]
By day, by night, my raptur'd fancy fill,
My bosom burns and heaves, I hear within
A sacred sound that prompts me to begin,
Lo! Phoebus comes, with his bright hair he blends
The radiant laurel wreath; Phoebus descends;
I mount, and, undepress'd by cumb'rous clay,
Through cloudy regions win my easy way;
Rapt through poetic shadowy haunts I fly:

William Cowper

Spring - The First Pastoral ; Or Damon

First in these fields I try the sylvan strains,
Nor blush to sport on Windsor's blissful plains:
Fair Thames, flow gently from thy sacred spring,
While on thy banks Sicilian Muses sing;
Let vernal airs tho' trembling osiers play,
And Albion's cliffs resound the rural lay.
You, that too wise for pride, too good for pow'r,
Enjoy the glory to be great no more,
And carrying with you all the world can boast,
To all the world illustriously are lost!
O let my Muse her slender reed inspire,
Till in your native shades you tune the lyre:
So when the Nightingale to rest removes,
The Thrush may chant to the forsaken groves,
But, charm'd to silence, listens while she sings,
And all th' aerial audience clap their wings.
Soon as the flocks shook off the nightly dews,
Tw...

Alexander Pope

Elegy V. - Anno Aetates 20. - On the Approach of Spring.

Time, never wand'ring from his annual round,
Bids Zephyr breathe the Spring, and thaw the ground;
Bleak Winter flies, new verdure clothes the plain,
And earth assumes her transient youth again.
Dream I, or also to the Spring belong
Increase of Genius, and new pow'rs of song?
Spring gives them, and, how strange soere it seem,
Impels me now to some harmonious theme.
Castalia's fountain and the forked hill¹
By day, by night, my raptur'd fancy fill,
My bosom burns and heaves, I hear within
A sacred sound that prompts me to begin,
Lo! Phoebus comes, with his bright hair he blends
The radiant laurel wreath; Phoebus descends;
I mount, and, undepress'd by cumb'rous clay,
Through cloudy regions win my easy way;
Rapt through poetic shadowy haunts I fly:
...

John Milton

A Song To A Fair Young Lady, Going Out Of Town In The Spring.

        Ask not the cause, why sullen Spring
            So long delays her flowers to bear;
        Why warbling birds forget to sing,
            And winter storms invert the year:
        Chloris is gone, and fate provides
        To make it Spring, where she resides.

        Chloris is gone, the cruel fair;
            She cast not back a pitying eye;
        But left her lover in despair,
            To sigh, to languish, and to die:
        Ah, how can those fair eyes endure
        To give the wounds they will not cure?

        Great God of love, why hast thou made
            A face that can all hearts command,
        That all religions can evade,
            And change the laws of every land?
        Where thou hadst placed such power bef...

John Dryden