Weep No More, Woeful Shepherds

Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more,
For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead,
Sunk thought he be beneath the watery floor;
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:
So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high...
And now the sun had streched out all the hills,
And now was dropped into the western bay;
At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue:
Tomorrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.

John Milton, from "Lycidas"