Hero and herdsman in red earth are one. - John Warren, 3rd Baron de Tabley

Thou felon anchorite of pain
Who sittest in a world of slain.

Arcadian spaces of great grass arise; Crisp lambs are merry: hoary vales are laid,
Studded with roe-deer and wild straw-berries: In one a shepherd tabours, near a maid,Who teazes at the button of his cloak, Where rarely underneath them grows the herb;
A squirrel eyes the lovers from an oak, And speckled horses pasture without curb.In a fair meadow set with tulip heads; A water-mill rolls little crested falls
Of olive torrent, broken in grey threads, A grave-yard crowds black crosses in square walls.Quaint pastoral Arcadia, where are set Thy rainy lands and reddish underwoods?
Earth hath not held thy fabled sunsets yet, Though lovers build their palace on thy roods.

A fair girl tripping out to meet her love,
Trimmed in her best, fresh as a clover bud.
An old crone leaning at an ember’d fire,
Short-breath’d in sighs and moaning to herself—
And all the interval of stealing years
To make that this, and one by one detach
Some excellent condition; till Despair
Faint at the vision, sadly, fiercely blinds
Her burning eyes on her forgetful hands.