Classic Poem

Within the compass of a shady grove
I long time saw a loving turtle fly,
And lastly pitching by her gentle love,
Sit kindly billing in his company:
Till, hapless souls, a falcon, sharply bent,
Flew towards the place where these kind wretches stood,
And sev'ring them, a fatal accident,
She from her mate flung speedy through the wood;
And 'scaping from the hawk, a fowler set
Close and with cunning underneath the shade,
Entrapp'd the harmless creature in his net,
And nothing moved with the plaint she made,
Restrain'd her from the groves and deserts wide,
Where, overgone with grief, poor bird, she died.