Velox Amoenum... Poem by Morgan Michaels

It sometimes happens that great Pan
leaving Arcady, roams these gentle hills,
enchanting the kine and suffering no
dropp of wet or seering sun to vex them.

At such times the milky brides of the foul
billies go calmly athwart the deep groves
trustful of their Lord, rooting up weak
shoots of tender arbutus and delicate thyme.

Untended, then, the kids may caper
mindless of snakebite and Mars' wolf-
constantly assured by the blue, long, drawn-out
flute note drifting across the vallies, down the stony

slopes of listing Ustica. At such times, Tyn-
dares, I sense the god'slove-incense to
them these verses intimated by the Muse; and
that they spill from Nature's bounteous horn

riches aplenty for me and now for you.
Here in this mossy dell, sealed off from the
dogday dust, you may pluck out ditties of the one
love shared by Penelope and glittering Circe.

And here, couched in shade, sipping the
innocent crus of Mytinini, and rendered immune
via Bacchus from all chicaneries of Mars; and hav-
ing, moreover, completely outwitted

dull Cyrus' absurd suspicians, his
mawling paws, stay-rest; here you need not fear
the least distress to you freshly dressed hair
or fear to tear your freshly-pressed dress.