Perdita

She dances,And I seem to beIn primrose vales of Sicily,Beside the streams once looked uponBy Thyrsis and by Corydon:The sunlight laughs as she advances,Shyly the zephyrs kiss her hair,And she seems to me as the wood-fawn, free,And as the wild rose, fair.

Dance, Perdita! and shepherds, blow!Your reeds restrain no longer!Till weald and welkin gleeful ring,Blow, shepherds, blow! and, lasses, sing,Yet sweeter strains and stronger!Let far Helorus softer flow'Twixt rushy banks, that he may hear;Let Pan, great Pan himself, draw near!

StatelyShe moves, half smilingWith girlish look beguiling,—A dawn-like grace in all her face;Stately she moves, sedately,Through the crowd circling round her;But—swift as light—See! she takes flight!Empty, alas! is her place.

Follow her, follow her, let her not go!Mirth ended so—Why, 't is but woe!Follow her, follow her! Perdita!—lo,Love hath with wreaths enwound her!

She dances,And I seem to seeThe nymph divine, Terpsichore,As when her beauty dazzling shoneOn eerie heights of Helicon.With bursts of song her voice entrancesThe dreamy, blossom-scented air,And she seems to me as the wood-fawn, free,And as the wild rose, fair.