John Milton
(1637)
Lycidas

Look homeward Angel now, and melt with ruth;
And, O ye Dolphins, waft the hapless youth.
Weep no more, woeful shepherds weep no more,
For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead,

Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills,

While the still morn went out with sandals gray;
He touched the tender stops of various quills,
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay.
And now the sun had stretched out all the hills,
And now has dropped into the western bay,
At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue;
Tomorrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.