Classic Poem

Whilom the Nine all careless took their way
By brook or pathless vale, in shady grove
List'ning where'er that Wight,
Recluse from mortal sight,
In Valombrosa's bowers bemoaned his Love,
Or Grecian maid tuned soft her sweetest lay!

But now, more social grown, ne Groves allure,
Ne streamlet's flowery brim their steps beguile.
They dwell secure, I ween,
On Wimbledon's smooth green,
And, far from their forsaken haunts, awhile
To hold sweet converse deign with Mortals pure!