Classic Poem

The Bull looks backwards on the Ram, for now
The changing twins have stilled the winter's breath:
The meadow smiles and green is every bough,
And Philomel doth wail for Itys' death.

My busy friend, for thee calm joy is banned,
Ah for the sunshine and ungirdled ease,
The groves, the water-springs, the shining sand,
With Anxur bright above the dancing seas.

Ah for the couch from which on either side
Thou seest the boats at sea, or in the port
Or on the stream, for here thou canst deride
Rome's baths, and theatres and wrangling court.

And here no gleaming temple soars aloft,
Here hath the Thunderer no towering shrine;
Now tired thou sayest—methinks I hear thee oft—
‘Rome keep thine own but let my life be mine.’