ANACREONTIC

I would not be A voyager on the windy seas: More sweet to me This bank where crickets chirp, and bees Buzz drowsy sunshine minstrelsies.

I would not bide On lonely heights where shepherds dwell. At twilight tide The sounds that from the valley swell, Soft breathing lute and herdsman's bell, Are sweeter far Than music of cold mountain rills. The evening star Wakes love and song below, but chills With mist and breeze the gloomy hills.

I would not woo Some storm-browed Juno, queenly fair. Soft eyes of blue And sudden blushes unaware Do net my heart in silken snare.

I do not love The eyrie, but low woodland nest Of cushat dove: Not wind, but calm; not toil, but rest And sleep in grassy meadow's breast.