Eclogue

1    1|   hath crazed your wit?~Your vine half-pruned hangs on the
2  III|   embossed, whereon a limber vine,~Wreathed round them by
3   IV|  feel the harrow’s grip, nor vine the hook;~The sturdy ploughman
4    V|    the cave~Is with the wild vine’s clusters over-laced!~Menalcas.~
5    V| spear-wands. As to trees the vine~Is crown of glory, as to
6  VII|   hath grudged the hills~His vine’s o’er-shadowing: should
7  VII|  Alcides hold most dear,~The vine Iacchus, Phoebus his own
8   IX|      the cave,~And the lithe vine weaves shadowy covert: come,~
9    X|   willows, ‘neath the limber vine,~Reclining would my love