Classic Poem

Cool streams in the fresh shady vale, woods girt and decked with lofty pines, where my Hyella was subdued and where I gathered from her the first rose;
May no season of the year be harsh to you, nor your green painted verdure be harmed by cold or heat, but may it ever grow greener and more delicious:
May no beast sully your pure founts, may no sharp steel attack your woods, may no wolf slay your modest lambs;
But let the nymphs here sing and dip their breasts in the stream, and may this faithful wood please the god Pan more than Arcadia ever pleased!