Classic Poem

When deck'd in pompous Majesty, the Sun
The steepy Height of Heav'ns Ascent has won;
Too bright the Glory, and too fierce the Day,
The feeble Shepherd shuns the gorgeous Ray.
The same our Care, tho' different be our Fate:
He pipes secure beneath the Becche's Height;
While I, alass! in vain retire from Love
To tie cool Covert of the shady Grove
In vain I fly! the Grove denies Relief
To the soft Torments of a Lover's Grief.
If with the new-born Light I chance to stray,
And through the Woodland shape my listless Way.
The matted Grass, the Leaves and pearly Dew
Breathe of the Morn, and utter nought but you.
Your Voice inspires the feather'd Songster's Throat.
Sweet through the Grove resounds the various Note;
Yet sweeter break the Accents from thy Tongue,
Than the soft Warblings of the tuneful Throng.
All's full of you; the Plants, the Flow'rs, the Trees,
The gurgling Rill, and soft etherial Breeze.
Through Nature's Works I find but fresh Alarms,
And trace th'unfinish'd Sketches of those matchless Charms.