Whence these words their stricken spirits melt,
—“I too, Shepherds! in Arcadia dwelt.”
There is many a summer sound
That pale sepulchre around;
Through the shade young birds are glancing,
Insect-wings in sun-streaks dancing;
Glimpses of blue festal skies
Pouring in when soft winds rise;
Violets o’er the turf below
Shedding out their warmest glow;