Then come away unto my ambuscade
Where clustering woodbine weaves a canopy
For amorous pleasaunce, and the rustling shade
Of Paphian myrtles seems to sanctify
The dearest rites of love; there in the cool
And green recesses of its farthest depth there is a pool,
The ouzel’s haunt, wild bee’s pasturage,
For round its rim great creamy lilies float
Through their flat leaves in verdant anchorage,
Each cup a white-sailed golden-laden boat
Steered by a dragonfly - be not afraid
To leave this wan and wave-kissed shore, surely the place
was made
For lovers such as we;
Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde
