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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=539292" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ode to Cynthia, on the Approach of Spring</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now in the cowslip's dewy cell<br>The fairies make their bed,<br>They hover round the crystal well,<br>The turf in circles tread.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The lovely linnet now her song<br>Tunes sweetest in the wood;<br>The twittering swallow skims along<br>The azure liquid flood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The morning breeze wafts Flora's kiss<br>In fragrance to the sense;<br>The happy shepherd feels the bliss,<br>And she takes no offence.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But not the linnet's sweetest song<br>That ever fill'd the wood;<br>Or twittering swallow that along<br>The azure liquid flood</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Skims swiftly, harbinger of spring,<br>Or morning's sweetest breath,<br>Or Flora's kiss, to me can bring<br>A remedy for death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For death-what do I say? Yes, death<br>Must surely end my days,<br>If cruel Cynthia slights my faith,<br>And will not hear my lays.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No more with festive garlands bound,<br>I at the wake shall be;<br>No more my feet shall press the ground<br>In dance with wonted glee;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No more my little flock I'll keep,<br>To some dark cave I'll fly;<br>I've nothing now to do but weep,<br>To mourn my fate, and sigh.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! Cynthia, thy Damon's cries<br>Are heard at dead of night;<br>But they, alas! are doom'd to rise<br>Like smoke upon the sight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They rise in vain, ah me! in vain<br>Are scatter'd in the wind;<br>Cynthia does not know the pain<br>That rankles in my mind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If sleep perhaps my eyelids close,<br>'Tis but to dream of you;<br>A while I cease to feel my woes,<br>Nay, think I 'm happy too.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I think I press with kisses pure,<br>Your lovely rosy lips;<br>And you're my bride, I think I'm sure,<br>Till gold the mountain tips.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When waked, aghast I look around,<br>And find my charmer flown;<br>Then bleeds afresh my galling wound,<br>While I am left alone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Take pity, then, O gentlest maid!<br>On thy poor Damon's heart:<br>Remember what I've often said,<br>'Tis you can cure my smart.</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=539292" data-title="Ode to Cynthia, on the Approach of Spring de William Shenstone" data-description="Now in the cowslip's dewy cell
The fairies make their bed,
They hover round the crystal well,
The turf in circles tread.

The lovely linnet now her song
Tunes sweetest in the wood;
The twittering swallow skims along
The azure liquid flood.

The mo..."></div>
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