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1667–1745

Blow, ye zephyrs, gentle gales...

Jonathan Swift

Blow, ye zephyrs, gentle gales; Gently fill the swelling sails. Neptune, with thy trident long, Trident three-fork'd, trident strong:

And ye Nereids fair and gay, Fairer than the rose in May, Nereids living in deep caves, Gently wash'd with gentle waves;

Nereids, Neptune, lull asleep Ruffling storms, and ruffled deep; All around, in pompous state, On this richer Argo wait:

Argo, bring my golden fleece, Argo, bring him to his Greece. Will Cadenus longer stay? Come, Cadenus, come away;

Come with all the haste of love, Come unto thy turtle-dove. The ripen'd cherry on the tree Hangs, and only hangs for thee,

Luscious peaches, mellow pears, Ceres, with her yellow ears, And the grape, both red and white, Grape inspiring just delight;

All are ripe, and courting sue, To be pluck'd and press'd by you. Pinks have lost their blooming red, Mourning hang their drooping head,

Every flower languid seems, Wants the colour of thy beams, Beams of wondrous force and power, Beams reviving every flower.

Come, Cadenus, bless once more, Bless again thy native shore, Bless again this drooping isle, Make its weeping beauties smile,

Beauties that thine absence mourn, Beauties wishing thy return: Come, Cadenus, come with haste, Come before the winter's blast;

Swifter than the lightning fly, Or I, like Vanessa, die.

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Blow, ye zephyrs, gentle gales... · Jonathan Swift · Poetry Cove