Classic Poem

CANT. I. vii.

O tell me thou, for whom I prove
The softest languishments of love,
Thou, dearer than all human things,
From whom my purest pleasure springs,
Thou lovely object of my care,
Whom more than life I prize by far;
O tell me in what verdant mead,
Or flow'ry vale, thy flocks are fed;
Or by what silver current's side,
Thou gently dost their footsteps guide?
Instruct me to what shade they run,
The noon-day's scorching heat to shun.
They follow thee, they hear thy voice,
And at the well known sound rejoice:
O let me too that music hear,
Let one kind whisper reach mine ear;
My soul shall that soft call obey,
Nor longer from thee wildly stray.