Classic Poem

S IGH , shepherds, sigh,
Spend all your breath in groans,
Lay your sweeter music by,
Harken only to the drones.
Henceforth no other garlands view
But what are made of dismal yew.
Tis fit all nature now should mourn
And every tree to cypress turn.

Those nymphs are gone
Whose looks in awe did keep
The wolf and fox, who alone
More than Pales blest our sheep.
Their sweetest grass the lambs did find.
Where their bright eyes, not Phaebus, shined.
In every place where they did come
They made a new Elysium.

Wretched swains, ye now can have
No Paradise but in the grave. Chorus:
Die, then die, since they are fled,
The only life is to be dead.