Page:The Poems of Oscar Wilde.pdf/271



no store

Of gryphon-guarded gold;

Now, as before,

Bare is the shepherd's fold.

Rubies, nor pearls,

Have I to gem thy throat;

Yet woodland girls

Have loved the shepherd's note.

Then, pluck a reed

And bid me sing to thee,

For I would feed

Thine ears with melody,

Who art more fair

Than fairest fleur-de-lys,

More sweet and rare

Than sweetest ambergris.

What dost thou fear?

Young Hyacinth is slain,

Pan is not here,

And will not come again. 257