Classic Poem

Viator

Shepherd, piping by your sheep,
Why these weary vigils keep?
Best for you were silent sleep.

Who will hear your pipes complain?
Who will reck your joy or pain?
Oh, give o'er the idle strain!

Will the roaring market heed
Song, when Gold is all their greed?
Of your music who has need?

Yes, and if they called for Song,
Can you pipe so clear and strong,
You would do the Art no wrong?

Feed your flock and roam the dales;
Shear the wool and fill the pails;
Cease from song: it naught avails.

Pastor

Well I know what greater skill
Moves the stops of many a quill, —
And the deaf world is heedless still!

But who most her boon refuse,
Have the most need of the Muse.
We who serve her may not choose.

Sing I must: not mine to fear
Lest the whole world stop its ear;
Somewhere, sometime, one will hear.

Slow my tongue and poor my art,
Yet nor time nor space can part
My message and that waiting heart.