Invocation To Echo, From Comus

SWEET Echo, sweetest Nymph, that liv’st unseen Within thine airy shell By slow Meander’s margent green, And in the violet-embroidered vale, Where the love-lorn nightingale Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well; Canst thou not tell me of a single pair That likest thy Narcissus are? O, if thou have Hid them in some flowery cave, Tell me but where, Sweet Queen of Parley, daughter of the Sphere! So mayest thou be translated to the skies, And give resounding grace to all Heaven’s harmonies.