Ah fairest Ganymede, disdaine me not, Though silly Sheepeheard I, presume to love thee, Though my harsh songs and Sonnets cannot move thee, Yet to thy beauty is my love no blot. Apollo, Iove, and many Gods beside, S'daind not the name of cuntry shepheards swains, Nor want we pleasure, though we take some pains, We live contentedly: a thing call'd pride, Which so corrupts the Court and every place, (Each place I meane where learning is neglected, And yet of late, even learnings selfe's infected) I know not what it meanes, in any case: Wee onely (when Molorchus gins to peepe) Learne for to folde, and to unfold our sheepe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH ON HIMSELF by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE DESERT FLOWERS by KEITH CASTELLAINE DOUGLAS DEAD COW FARM by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 50 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN SONGS WITH PRELUDES: REGRET by JEAN INGELOW |