John Milton (1608–1674)

SWEET Echo, sweetest nymph that liv’st unseen

Within thy airy shell,

By slow Meander’s margent green,

And in the violet-embroidered vale,

Where the love-lorn nightingale

Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well;

Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair

That likest thy Narcissus are?

O, if thou have

Hid them in some flowery cave,

Tell me but where,

Sweet queen of parley, daughter of the sphere!

So mayst thou be translated to the skies,

And give resounding grace to all heaven’s harmonies.