Classic Poem

This road our blithe-heart elders knew,
And down it trooped together;
They plucked their reeds from out the dew,
And piped the morning weather.

Shepherd or gallant, cloak or smock,
They lead where we do follow;
Hear Colin there among his flock
To Phyllis in the hollow!

Corinna goes a-Maying yet;
Phillida's laugh is ringing;
And see Castara, violet
Of early English singing.

But were these lovers never sad,
Did not some heart go breaking?
Were youth and cowslips to be had
Just for the simple taking?

Oh, Sorrow, too, has gone this way,
And Loss as well as Leisure;
Yet Sorrow lasted for a day,
And Loss through scarce a measure.

And here Beau Waller stayed to snatch,
Just at Oblivion's portal,
A single rose that none can match —
And after grew immortal.

No rain can strip it of its red;
No gust pelt out its savor;
Though Celia died and he is dead,
This is the rose he gave her.

What riverside shall grow once more
The reed bared of dull teaching?
And who shall bring unto our door
Music instead of preaching?

Yet here forget the evil days;
Let go the Now and After;
Our blithe-heart elders trooped these ways,
And filled them full of Laughter!