كتاب المرشد إلى فهم أشعار العرب

الجزء الرابع - القسم الأول: في الأغراض وأطوار المقاصد والأساليب - أندرو مارفيل وأبو الطيب - ج: 4 - ص: 634

Fair trees! Whereso'er your barks I wound,

No name shall but your own be found.

When we have run our passion's heat

Love hither makes his best retreat;

The gods, who mortal beauty chase,

Still in a tree did end their race;

Apollo hunted Daphne so

Only that she might laurel grow;

And Pan did after Syrinx speed

Not as a nymph, but for a reed.

What wondrous life is this I lead!

Ripe apples drop about my head;

The luscius clusters of the vine

Upon my mouth do crush their wine;

The nectarine and curious peach

Into my hands themselves do reach;

Stumbling on melons, as I pass,

Ensnared with flowersi I fall on grass,

Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less

Withdraws into its happiness;

The mind, that ocean where each kind

Does straight its own resemblance find;

Yet it createsi transcending these,