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Michael Drayton - Idea LIII: To the River Ancor
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Clear Ancor, on whose silver-sanded shore
    My soul-shrin`d saint, my fair Idea lies,
    O blessed brook, whose milk-white swans adore
    Thy crystal stream, refined by her eyes,
    Where sweet myrrh-breathing Zephyr in the spring
    Gently distills his nectar-dropping showers,
    Where nightingales in Arden sit and sing
    Amongst the dainty dew-impearled flowers;
    Say thus, fair brook, when thou shalt see thy queen:
   Lo, here thy shepherd spent his wand`ring years,
   And in these shades, dear nymph, he oft hath been,
   And here to thee he sacrific`d his tears.
   Fair Arden, thou my Tempe art alone,
   And thou, sweet Ancor, art my Helicon.
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