Ye white Sicilian goats, who wander all About the slopes of this wild mountain pass, Take heed your horny footsteps do not fall Upon the baby dreamer in the grass. Let him lie there, half waking, and rejoice In the safe shelter of his resting-place, In hearing of his shepherd father’s voice, In reach of fruity clusters o’er his face. Look up, sweet baby eyes, look up on high, To where Olympus merges in the blue. There dwell the deathless gods in majesty, The gods who hold a mighty gift for you. Those little, clinging hands shall write one day, Rare, golden words, to lift the hearts of men; Those curling, downy locks shall wear the bay, A crown that they shall never lose again. Little Theocritus! Look up and smile, Immortal child, for there are coming years, When the great, busy world shall pause awhile To listen to your singing through its tears.
Little Theocritus
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Ye white Sicilian goats, who wander all About the slopes of this wild mountain pass, Take heed your horny footsteps do not fall Upon the baby dreamer in the grass. Let him lie there, half waking, and rejoice In the safe shelter of his resting-place, In hearing of his shepherd father’s... |