In this intimate sonnet, the speaker imagines a lush celebration around her beloved, Phaon, who rests beside her favorite grotto. She calls for roses to spread their petals, for fragrant buds to press against his warm skin and expire under his gaze, and for music and ritual to fill the air. The scene is a sensory feast: drums echo, attendants sprinkle sweet spices on his clothes, wreaths of myrtle and intensely colored flowers adorn him, and wine flows richly from purple cups. Her desire is possessive and triumphant—she envisions his cheek glowing with joy, his heart encircled by love’s hidden chains, and a lyre playing songs that publicly declare him hers. The mood is one of fervent, almost theatrical devotion, where nature and art conspire to honor the beloved and announce the speaker’s claim. It feels ecstatic, heady, and deeply enamored.
Sonnet XV: Now, Round My Favour'd Grot — Summary
Now, round my favor'd grot let roses rise, To strew the bank where Phaon wakes from rest; O! happy buds! to kiss his burning breast, And die, beneath the lustre of his eyes! Now, let the timbrels echo to the skies, Now damsels sprinkel cassia on his vest, With od'rous wreaths of constant myrtle drest, And flow'rs, deep tinted with the rainbow's dyes! From cups of porphyry let nectar flow, Rich as the perfume of Phoenicia's vine! Now let his dimpling cheek with rapture glow, While round his heart love's mystic fetters twine; And let the Grecian Lyre its aid bestow, In songs of triumph, to proclaim him mine!