The Green Shepherd
Here sit a shepherd and a shepherdess,
He playing on his melancholy flute,
The sea wind ruffles up her simple dress
And shows the delicacy of her foot.
And there you see Constantinople’s wall
With arrows and Greek fire, molten lead.
Down from a turret seven virgins fall,
Hands folded, each one praying on her head.
The shepherd yawns, and puts his flute away.
It’s time, she murmurs, we were going back,
He offers certain reasons she should stay…
But neither sees the dragon on their track.
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