Classic Poem

WHEREIN HE TORTURES HIS SOUL WITH REMINISCENCE IN VAUCLUSE

Valley familiar with my desperate din,
Stream which my tears now feed, have fed before;
Beasts of the brake, bright birds and silver floor
Of Sorga friendly to the jewelled fin;
Air hushed with sighs like some soft medicine;
Delightful path whose sad hints I explore;
Hill that once pleased me — and shall please no more —
Whither Love tugs at me to enter in:
You, you are still unchanged! How changed, alas,
Am I who, from a height so rare, so rich,
Am now of infinite grief the very niche!
Here, here I saw my sweet! Here still I pass
Her farewell footprints and the spot from which,
The flesh discarded, she flamed from the grass!