Swings he the mighty banner high,

That shepherd: see, he leads his flock

To safer climes, to pastures new,

Their wretched former lives forgot.

They call, "Arcadia."


They flourish in that new-found hav'n

And so the seed of loy'lty grows,

In young, in lost, in long-forsak'n,

And so the dark'ning hue of rose:

Love of Arcadia.


The shepherd, prophet of ill fate,

Doth scheme, connive, beneath a mask

'til malice hidd'n walks unseen.

He knoweth that he need not ask

"Die for Arcadia."


But tainted haven twice invaded

Succumbeth to the battlefield

Of life cut short, the wrath of grief.

Now must the shepherd his life yield.

So falls Arcadia.


Anon, the bloody banner droops,

His treachery at last revealed

To loyalist rose, to future foes,

That hopeful dream now torn, now sealed.

Wretchèd Arcadia.


This is what happens when last minute cramming meets Marlowe's "The Passionate Shepherd to his Love", meanders on to Ralegh's "The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd", starts to take notes… and then gets distracted by Arcadia.

Divine, get out of my head.