Classic Poem

Turn to yon vale beneath, whose tangled shade
Excludes the blazing torch of noonday light:
Where sportive fawns and dimpled loves invite,
The bower of pleasure opens to the glade.
Lulled by soft flutes, on leaves of violets laid,
There witching beauty greets the ravished sight,
More gentle than the arbitress of night
In all her silvery panoply arrayed!
The birds breathe bliss, light zephyrs kiss the ground
Stealing the hyacinth's divine perfume;
While from pellucid fountains glittering round,
Small tinkling rills bid rival flowerets bloom!
Here, laughing cupids bathe the bosom's wound;
There, tyrant passion finds a glorious tomb!