`Shepherd swains that feed your flocks

‘Mong the grassy-rooted rocks,

While I still see sun and moon,

Grant to me this simple boon:

As I sit on craggy seat,

And your kids and young lambs bleat,

Let who on the pierced pipe blows

Play the sweetest air he knows.

And, when I no more shall hear

Grasshopper or chanticleer,

Strew green bay and yellow broom

On the silence of my tomb;

And, still giving as you gave,

Milk a she-goat at my grave.

For, though life and joy be fled,

Dear are love-gifts to the dead.’

Alfred Austin
Latest posts by Alfred Austin (see all)