<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=344237" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ballades I - To Theocritus, in Winter</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">AH! leave the smoke, the wealth, the roar <br>Of London, leave the bustling street, <br>For still, by the Sicilian shore, <br>The murmur of the Muse is sweet. <br>Still, still, the suns of summer greet <br>The mountain-grave of Helike, <br>And shepherds still their songs repeat <br>Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea. <br> <br>What though they worship Pan no more <br>That guarded once the shepherd’s seat,<br>They chatter of their rustic lore, <br>They watch the wind among the wheat: <br>Cicalas chirp, the young lambs bleat, <br>Where whispers pine to cypress tree; <br>They count the waves that idly beat,<br>Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea. <br> <br>Theocritus! thou canst restore <br>The pleasant years, and over-fleet; <br>With thee we live as men of yore, <br>We rest where running waters meet:<br>And then we turn unwilling feet <br>And seek the world—so must it be— <br>We may not linger in the heat <br>Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea! <br> <br>ENVOY</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Master,—when rain, and snow, and sleet <br>And northern winds are wild, to thee <br>We come, we rest in thy retreat, <br>Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Andrew+Lang">Andrew Lang</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=344237" data-title="Ballades I - To Theocritus, in Winter de Andrew Lang" data-description="AH! leave the smoke, the wealth, the roar Of London, leave the bustling street, For still, by the Sicilian shore, The murmur of the Muse is sweet. Still, still, the suns of summer greet The mountain-grave of Helike, And shepherds still their..."></div> </div> </div>

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