Poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson

Soli Cantare Periti Arcades

  Oh, I would live in a dairy,
    And its Colin I would be,
  And many a rustic fairy
    Should churn the milk with me.

  Or the fields should be my pleasure,
    And my flocks should follow me,
  Piping a frolic measure
    For Joan or Marjorie.

  For the town is black and weary,
    And I hate the London street;
  But the country ways are cheery,
    And country lanes are sweet.

  Good luck to you, Paris ladies!
    Ye are over fine and nice
  I know where the country maid is,
    Who needs not asking twice.

  Ye are brave in your silks and satins,
    As ye mince about the Town;
  But her feet go free in pattens,
    If she wear a russet gown.

  If she be not queen nor goddess
    She shall milk my brown-eyed herds,
  And the breasts beneath her bodice
    Are whiter than her curds.

  So I will live in a dairy,
    And its Colin I will be,
  And its Joan that I will marry,
    Or, haply, Marjorie.

1. Quid Non Supremus, Amantes?
2. Epigram
3. Villanelle of Marguerite's
4. Vain Resolves
5. Amor Umbratilis

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