English poem
Phyllis And Corydon
by Arthur Colton (1868–1943)
Phyllis took a red rose from the tangles of her hair,--
Time, the Golden Age; the place, Arcadia, anywhere,--
Phyllis laughed, the saucy jade: "Sir Shepherd, wilt
have this,
Or"--Bashful god of skipping lambs and oaten reeds!
--"a kiss?"
Bethink thee, gentle Corydon! A rose lasts all night
long,
A kiss but slips from off your lips like a thrush's
evening song.
A kiss that goes, where no one knows! A rose, a
crimson rose!
Corydon made his choice and took--Well, which do
you suppose?