Ode 9. Behold, out walking in these valleys

Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)

BEHOLD, out walking in these valleys,

When fair PARTHENOPHE doth tread,

How joysome FLORA, with her dallies!

And, at her steps, sweet flowers bred!

Narcissus yellow,

And Amaranthus ever red,

Which all her footsteps overspread:

With Hyacinth that finds no fellow.

Behold, within that shady thick,

Where my PARTHENOPHE doth walk,

Her beauty makes trees moving quick,

Which, of her grace, in murmur talk!

The Poplar trees shed tears;

The blossomed Hawthorn, white as chalk;

And Aspen trembling on his stalk;

The tree which sweet frankincense bears;

The barren Hebene coaly black;

Green Ivy, with his strange embraces;

Daphne, which scorns JOVE’s thundercrack;

Sweet Cypress, set in sundry places;

And singing Atis tells

Unto the rest, my Mistress’s graces!

From them, the wind, her glory chases

Throughout the West; where it excels.