SING his praises that doth keep
Our flocks from harm.
Pan, the father of our sheep;
And arm in arm
Tread we softly in a round,
Whilst the hollow neighbouring ground
Fills the music with her sound.
Pan, O great god Pan, to thee
Thus do we sing!
Thou who keep’st us chaste and free
As the young spring:
Ever be thy honour spoke
From that place the morn is broke
To that place day doth unyoke!
(John Fletcher)
More Poetry from John Fletcher:
John Fletcher Poems based on Topics: Spring, Youth, Fathers, Music- Melancholy (John Fletcher Poems)
- Hear, ye Ladies (John Fletcher Poems)
- Love's Emblems (John Fletcher Poems)
- Hence, All You Vain Delights from the Nice Valour (John Fletcher Poems)
- Beauty Clear and Fair (John Fletcher Poems)
- Away, Delights (John Fletcher Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Youth Poems, Spring Poems, Fathers Poems, Music PoemsBased on Keywords: pan, chaste, praises, neighbouring, unyoke