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Mary Darby Robinson - Sonnet IX: Ye, Who in Alleys Green
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Ye, who in alleys green and leafy bow`rs,
Sport, the rude children of fantastic birth;
Where frolic nymphs, and shaggy tribes of mirth,
In clam`rous revels waste the midnight hours;
Who, link`d in flaunting bands of mountain flow`rs,
Weave your wild mazes o`er the dewy earth,
Ere the fierce Lord of Lustre rushes forth,
And o`er the world his beamy radiance pours!
Oft has your clanking cymbal`s madd`ning strain,
Loud ringing through the torch-illumin`d grove,
Lur`d my lov`d Phaon from the youthful train,
Through rugged dells, o`er craggy rocks to rove; 
Then how can she his vagrant heart detain,
Whose Lyre throbs only to the touch of Love!
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