AH! leave the smoke, the wealth, the roar <br />Of London, leave the bustling street, <br />For still, by the Sicilian shore, <br />The murmur of the Muse is sweet. <br />Still, still, the suns of summer greet <br />The mountain-grave of Helike, <br />And shepherds still their songs repeat <br />Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea. <br /> <br />What though they worship Pan no more <br />That guarded once the shepherd’s seat, <br />They chatter of their rustic lore, <br />They watch the wind among the wheat: <br />Cicalas chirp, the young lambs bleat, <br />Where whispers pine to cypress tree; <br />They count the waves that idly beat, <br />Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea. <br /> <br />Theocritus! thou canst restore <br />The pleasant years, and over-fleet; <br />With thee we live as men of yore, <br />We rest where running waters meet: <br />And then we turn unwilling feet <br />And seek the world—so must it be— <br />We may not linger in the heat <br />Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea! <br /> <br />ENVOY <br /> <br />Master,—when rain, and snow, and sleet <br />And northern winds are wild, to thee <br />We come, we rest in thy retreat, <br />Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea!<br /><br />Andrew Lang<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ballades-i-to-theocritus-in-winter/
