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John Keats - Imitation Of Spenser
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Now Morning from her orient chamber came,
  And her first footsteps touch`d a verdant hill;
  Crowning its lawny crest with amber flame,
  Silv`ring the untainted gushes of its rill;
  Which, pure from mossy beds, did down distill,
  And after parting beds of simple flowers,
  By many streams a little lake did fill,
  Which round its marge reflected woven bowers,
And, in its middle space, a sky that never lowers.

  There the king-fisher saw his plumage bright
  Vieing with fish of brilliant dye below;
  Whose silken fins, and golden scales` light
  Cast upward, through the waves, a ruby glow:
  There saw the swan his neck of arched snow,
  And oar`d himself along with majesty;
  Sparkled his jetty eyes; his feet did show
  Beneath the waves like Afric`s ebony,
And on his back a fay reclined voluptuously.

  Ah! could I tell the wonders of an isle
  That in that fairest lake had placed been,
  I could e`en Dido of her grief beguile;
  Or rob from aged Lear his bitter teen:
  For sure so fair a place was never seen,
  Of all that ever charm`d romantic eye:
  It seem`d an emerald in the silver sheen
  Of the bright waters; or as when on high,
Through clouds of fleecy white, laughs the cœrulean sky.

  And all around it dipp`d luxuriously
  Slopings of verdure through the glossy tide,
  Which, as it were in gentle amity,
  Rippled delighted up the flowery side;
  As if to glean the ruddy tears, it tried,
  Which fell profusely from the rose-tree stem!
  Haply it was the workings of its pride,
  In strife to throw upon the shore a gem
Outviewing all the buds in Flora`s diadem.
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