Classic Poem

Sweet Formiae, the pleasant home
Apollinaris loveth well,
Released from all the cares of Rome
'Tis here that he would choose to dwell;
Tibur his heart cannot beguile
Though there his loving spouse was born;
He seeks not Circe's witching isle,
Praneste, Antium, he doth scorn;
Though fair be Tusculum's retreat,
And Caieta has ancient fame,
Though Liris' gentle stream be sweet,
His fealty they cannot claim;
He chooses not thy cooling shade.
Marica, and he would forsake
The fountain of the water-maid
Who plunges in the Lucrine lake;
Here is no stagnant sea or air
The deep, a living thing, exhales,
Soft breath to toy with Thais' hair
And gently fill the painted sails;
How lightly here the Zephyrs play,
As though a maiden's dainty hand
The heat of summer to allay,
Her loveliness had softly fanned;
Not far the fisher needs to roam,
But in the waters clear and still
Beneath the casement of his home
May watch and take his prey at will;
And here though Aeolus should rave,
The table lacks not dainty fare;
The fish-pool fears no angry wave,
Pike, mullet, lampreys all are there,
Home-bred its denizens and tame
Huge mullets here and barbel swim,
Whose keeper knows them all by name
And at his call they come to him;
Their lord, alas, through all the year
From city toil is seldom free,
Few days, O Rome, thou givest him here.
How many he must give to thee;
Oh happy they who may abide
In this fair place although in thrall;
These pleasures doth their lord provide.
His servants have the joy of all.