Sonnet - Bring, bring to deck my brow

Bring, bring to deck my brow, ye Sylvan girls,

A roseate wreath; nor for my waving hair

The costly band of studded gems prepare,

Of sparkling crysolite or orient pearls:

Love, o'er my head his canopy unfurls,

His purple pinions fan the whisp'ring air;

Mocking the golden sandal, rich and rare,

Beneath my feet the fragrant woodbine curls.

Bring the thin robe, to fold about my breast,

White as the downy swan; while round my waist

Let leaves of glossy myrtle bind the vest,

Not idly gay, but elegantly chaste!

Love scorns the nymph in wanton trappings drest;

And charms the most concealed, are doubly grac'd.