Salicio

What is this thou' hast said, Unthinking Nemoroso? Can there be Aught half so charming, half so sweet to me, As listening to thy stories? Tell me more Of sage Severo; tell me, I implore. Nought interrupts the tale; our flocks at rest, The fresh soft wind comes whispering from the west; Sweet weeps the nightingale in song that moves In amorous hearts the sadnesses she proves; The turtle murmurs from her elm; the bee Hums; the shy cuckoo shouts from tree to tree; The wood a thousand flowers presents; the flowers A thousand hues; and, hung with nodding bowers, This babbling fountain with its voice invites To social ease and interchanged delights.