Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/605

 Glad, pale Cynthian wine I sip, Breathed the flow'ry leaves among; Draughts delicious wet my lip; Drown'd in nectar drunk my song; While tuned to Philomel the lay, Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.

Dew, that od'rous ointment yields, Sweets, that western winds disclose, Bathing spring's more purpled fields, Soft's the band that winds the rose; While o'er thy myrtled lawns I stray Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.

WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES

1762-1850

509. Time and Grief

O Time! who know'st a lenient hand to lay Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence (Lulling to sad repose the weary sense) The faint pang stealest unperceived away; On thee I rest my only hope at last, And think, when thou hast dried the bitter tear That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear, I may look back on every sorrow past, And meet life's peaceful evening with a smile: As some lone bird, at day's departing hour, Sings in the sunbeam, of the transient shower Forgetful, though its wings are wet the while:— Yet ah! how much must this poor heart endure, Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure!