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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=539240" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Pastoral Ballad II: Hope</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">My banks they are furnish'd with bees, <br>Whose murmur invites one to sleep; <br>My grottos are shaded with trees, <br>And my hills are white-over with sheep. <br>I seldom have met with a loss, <br>Such health do my fountains bestow; <br>My fountains all border'd with moss, <br>Where the hare-bells and violets grow. <br>Not a pine in my grove is there seen, <br>But with tendrils of woodbine is bound:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not a beech's more beautiful green, <br>But a sweet-briar entwines it around. <br>Not my fields, in the prime of the year, <br>More charms than my cattle unfold; <br>Not a brook that is limpid and clear, <br>But it glitters with fishes of gold. <br>One would think she might like to retire <br>To the bow'r I have labour'd to rear; <br>Not a shrub that I heard her admire, <br>But I hasted and planted it there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O how sudden the jessamine strove <br>With the lilac to render it gay! <br>Already it calls for my love, <br>To prune the wild branches away. <br>From the plains, from the woodlands and groves, <br>What strains of wild melody flow! <br>How the nightingales warble their loves <br>From thickets of roses that blow! <br>And when her bright form shall appear, <br>Each bird shall harmoniously join</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In a concert so soft and so clear, <br>As -- she may not be fond to resign. <br>I have found out a gift for my fair; <br>I have found where the wood-pigeons breed: <br>But let me that plunder forbear, <br>She will say 'twas a barbarous deed. <br>For he ne'er could be true, she aver'd, <br>Who could rob a poor bird of its young: <br>And I lov'd her the more, when I heard <br>Such tenderness fall from her tongue.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have heard her with sweetness unfold <br>How that pity was due to -- a dove: <br>That it ever attended the bold; <br>And she call'd it the sister of love. <br>But her words such a pleasure convey, <br>So much I her accents adore, <br>Let her speak, and whatever she say, <br>Methinks I should love her the more. <br>Can a bosom so gentle remain <br>Unmov'd, when her Corydon sighs!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Will a nymph that is fond of the plain, <br>These plains and this valley despise? <br>Dear regions of silence and shade! <br>Soft scenes of contentment and ease! <br>Where I could have pleasingly stray'd, <br>If aught, in her absence, could please. <br>But where does my Phyllida stray? <br>And where are her grots and her bow'rs? <br>Are the groves and the valleys as gay, <br>And the shepherds as gentle as ours?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The groves may perhaps be as fair, <br>And the face of the valleys as fine; <br>The swains may in manners compare, <br>But their love is not equal to mine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Shenstone">William Shenstone</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=539240" data-title="A Pastoral Ballad II: Hope de William Shenstone" data-description="My banks they are furnish'd with bees, 
Whose murmur invites one to sleep; 
My grottos are shaded with trees, 
And my hills are white-over with sheep. 
I seldom have met with a loss, 
Such health do my fountains bestow; 
My fountains all border'd ..."></div>
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