Classic Poem

polyphemus:I rage, I melt, I burn,
The feeble god has stabbed me to the heart.
Thou trusty pine, prop of my godlike steps,
I lay thee by.
Bring me a hundred reeds of decent growth,
To make a pipe for my capacious mouth;
In soft enchanting accents let me breathe
Sweet Galatea's beauty, and my love.