Margaret L. Woods (1856–1945)

PEACE, Shepherd, peace! What boots it singing on?

Since long ago grace-giving Phœbus died,

And all the train that loved the stream-bright side

Of the poetic mount with him are gone

Beyond the shores of Styx and Acheron,

In unexplorèd realms of night to hide.

The clouds that strew their shadows far and wide

Are all of Heaven that visits Helicon.

Yet here, where never muse or god did haunt,

Still may some nameless power of Nature stray,

Pleased with the reedy stream’s continual chant

And purple pomp of these broad fields in May.

The shepherds meet him where he herds the kine,

And careless pass him by whose is the gift divine.