James Thomson (1)

The Clouds consign their treasures to the fields;
And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool
Prelusive drops, read more

The Clouds consign their treasures to the fields;
And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool
Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow
In large effusion, o'er the freshen'd world.

Of evening tinct,
The purple-streaming Amethyst is thine.

Of evening tinct,
The purple-streaming Amethyst is thine.

Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames;
Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt
read more

Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames;
Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt
In Twit'nham bowers, and for their Pope implore.

O fair undress, best dress! it checks no vein,
But every flowing limb in pleasure drowns,
And read more

O fair undress, best dress! it checks no vein,
But every flowing limb in pleasure drowns,
And heightens ease with grace.

He ceased; but still their trembling ears retained
The deep vibrations of his witching song.

He ceased; but still their trembling ears retained
The deep vibrations of his witching song.