The Poetry Corner

Madrigal

By William Henry Drummond

Like the Idalian queen, Her hair about her eyne, With neck and breasts ripe apples to be seen, At first glance of the morn In Cyprus gardens gathering those fair flowrs Which of her blood were born, I saw, but fainting saw, my paramours. The Graces naked danced about the place, The winds and trees amazed With silence on her gazed, The flowers did smile, like those upon her face; And as their aspen stalks those fingers band, That she might read my case, A hyacinth I wishd me in her hand.