Classic Poem

  Neiph . Come on.—A little further on,
And we shall reach a place where we may pause.
It is a meadow full of the early spring:
Tall grass is there which dallies with the wind,
And never-ending odorous lemon-trees;
Wild flowers in blossom, and sweet citron-buds,
And princely cedars; and the linden-boughs
Make arched walks for love to whisper in.
If you be tired, lie down, and you shall hear
A river, which doth kiss irregular banks,
Enchant your senses with a sleepy tune.
If not, and merry blood doth stir your veins,
The place hath still a fair and pleasant aspect:
For, in the midst of this green meadow, springs
A fountain of white marble; o'er whose sides
Run stories, graven by some cunning hand,
Of pastoral life, and tipsy revelry,
There will we, midst delicious cates, and wines
Sparkling and amorous, and sweet instruments,
Sing gentle mischief as the sun goes down.
Quick! but a few steps more—round by this copse
Of olives and young chesnuts, (to whose arms
The vines seem clinging, like so many brides,)
And you will reach 't. Ha,—Stay!—Look! here it is.
  Fiamet . Ha, ha! Ha, ha!—Look! how Philostratus
Buries his forehead in the fresh green grass.
  Pamphilus . Hail, vernal spot! We bear to thy embrace
Pleasures that ask for calm; Love, and Delight;
Harmonious pulses where no evil dwells;
Smiles without treach'ry: words all soft and true;
Music like morning, fresh and full of youth;
And all else that belongs to gentleness.