An ancient chestnut’s blossoms threw <br />Their heavy odour over two: <br />Leucippe, it is said, was one; <br />The other, then, was Alciphron. <br />‘Come, come! why should we stand beneath?’ <br />This hollow tree’s unwholesome breath?’ <br />Said Alciphron, ‘here’s not a blade <br />Of grass or moss, and scanty shade. <br />Come; it is just the hour to rove <br />In the lone dingle shepherds love; <br />There, straight and tall, the hazel twig <br />Divides the crookàed rock-held fig, <br />O’er the blue pebbles where the rill <br />In winter runs and may run still. <br />Come then, while fresh and calm the air, <br />And while the shepherds are not there.’ <br /> <br />Leucippe. But I would rather go when they <br />Sit round about and sing and play. <br />Then why so hurry me? for you <br />Like play and song, and shepherds too. <br /> <br />Alciphron. I like the shepherds very well, <br />And song and play, as you can tell. <br />But there is play, I sadly fear, <br />And song I would not have you hear. <br /> <br />Leucippe. What can it be? What can it be? <br /> <br />Alciphron. To you may none of them repeat <br />The play that you have play’d with me, <br />The song that made your bosom beat. <br /> <br />Leucippe. Don’t keep your arm about my waist. <br /> <br />Alciphron. Might you not stumble? <br /> <br />Leucippe. Well then, do. <br />But why are we in all this haste? <br /> <br />Alciphron. To sing. <br /> <br />Leucippe. Alas! and not play too?<br /><br />Walter Savage Landor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/alciphron-and-leucippe/
