WHERE is the summer, with her golden sun? <br />-That festal glory hath not pass'd from earth: <br />For me alone the laughing day is done! <br />Where is the summer with her voice of mirth? <br />-Far in my own bright land! <br /> <br />Where are the Fauns, whose flute-notes breathe and die <br />On the green hills?-the founts, from sparry caves <br />Through the wild places bearing melody? <br />The reeds, low whispering o'er the river waves? <br />-Far in my own bright land! <br /> <br />Where are the temples, through the dim wood shining, <br />The virgin-dances, and the choral strains? <br />Where the sweet sisters of my youth, entwining <br />The Spring's first roses for their sylvan fanes? <br />-Far in my own bright land! <br /> <br />Where are the vineyards, with their joyous throngs, <br />The red grapes pressing when the foliage fades? <br />The lyres, the wreaths, the lovely Dorian songs, <br />And the pine forests, and the olive shades? <br />-Far in my own bright land! <br /> <br />Where the deep haunted grots, the laurel bowers, <br />The Dryad's footsteps, and the minstrel's dreams? <br />-Oh! that my life were as a southern flower's! <br />I might not languish then by these chill streams, <br />Far from my own bright land!<br /><br />Felicia Dorothea Hemans<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ancient-greek-song-of-exile/
