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THE SAD SHEPHERD
And when he played it was their loneliness,
The exultation of their stone, that cried
Under his fingers.
Shepherd
I had it from his mother,
And his own flock was browsing at the door.
Goatherd
How does she bear her grief? There is not a shepherd
But grows more gentle when he speaks her name,
Remembering kindness done, and how can I,
That found when I had neither goat nor grazing
New welcome and old wisdom at her fire
Till winter blasts were gone, but speak of her
Even before his children and his wife.
