"When here, Lucinda, first we came, Where Arno rolls his silver stream, How blithe the nymphs, the swains how gay, Content inspired each rural lay. The birds in livelier concert sung, The grapes in thicker clusters hung; All looked as joy could never fail Among the sweets of Arno's Vale. But since the good Palemon died, The chief of shepherds and their pride, Now Arno's sons must all give place To northern men, an iron race. The taste of pleasure now is o'er. Thy notes, Lucinda, please no more; The Muses droop, the Goths prevail; Adieu the sweets of Arno's Vale." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FIDDLING WOOD by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET HOW TO BE A POET (TO REMIND MYSELF) by WENDELL BERRY ESSAY ON STONE by HAYDEN CARRUTH LETTER TO JOSEPH WARREN by ROBERT FROST UNDER THE CEDARCROFT CHESTNUT by SIDNEY LANIER WITH CHAOS IN EACH KISS by TIMOTHY LIU IS YOUR TOWN NINEVEH? by MARIANNE MOORE |