Come hither, who grow cloyed to surfeiting <br />With lyric draughts o'ersweet, from rills that rise <br />On Hybla not Parnassus mountain: come <br />With beakers rinsed of the dulcifluous wave <br />Hither, and see a magic miracle <br />Of happiest science, the bland Attic skies <br />True-mirrored by an English well;-no stream <br />Whose heaven-belying surface makes the stars <br />Reel, with its restless idiosyncrasy; <br />But well unstirred, save when at times it takes <br />Tribute of lover's eyelids, and at times <br />Bubbles with laughter of some sprite below.<br /><br />William Watson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-landor-s-hellenics/
