O SINGER of the field and fold, THEOCRITUS! Pan's pipe was thine, -- Thine was the happier Age of Gold. For thee the scent of new-turned mould, The bee-hives, and the murmuring pine, O Singer of the field and fold! Thou sang'st the simple feasts of old, -- The beechen bowl made glad with wine... Thine was the happier Age of Gold. Thou bad'st the rustic loves be told, -- Thou bad'st the tuneful reeds combine, O Singer of the field and fold! And round thee, ever-laughing, rolled The blithe and blue Sicilian brine: Thine was the happier Age of Gold. Alas for us! Our songs are cold; Our Northern suns too sadly shine: -- O Singer of the field and fold, Thine was the happier Age of Gold | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVE LIES BLEEDING by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE WATERFALL by HENRY VAUGHAN SABBATH THOUGHTS by GRACE AGUILAR |