Grant me the Muse, ye gods! whose humble flight <br />Seeks not the mountain-top's pernicious height: <br />Who can the tall Parnassian cliff forsake, <br />To visit oft the still Lethean lake; <br />Now her slow pinions brush the silent shore, <br />Now gently skim the unwrinkled waters o'er, <br />There dips her downy plumes, thence upward flies, <br />And sheds soft slumbers on her votary's eyes.<br /><br />William Cowper<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-a-letter-to-c-p-esq-ill-with-the-rheumatism/
