WHEN bees come hither in the fair springtide, Tell them, ye nymphs and cattle-pastures chill, How on a wintry night Leucippus died While snaring scampering hares upon the hill; The hives no more shall feel his fostering skill, But the sad hollows where the flocks are fed, For very grief are sighing for him still; The neighbour of the mountain-peak is dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest... |