Patron of all those luckless brains, <br />That, to the wrong side leaning, <br />Indite much metre with much pains, <br />And little or no meaning; <br />Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams, <br />That water all the nations, <br />Pay tribute to thy glorious beams, <br />In constant exhalations; <br />Why, stooping from the noon of day, <br />Too covetous of drink, <br />Apollo, hast thou stolen away <br />A poet’s drop of ink? <br />Upborne into the viewless air, <br />It floats a vapour now, <br />Impell’d through regions dense and rare, <br />By all the winds that blow. <br />Ordain’d perhaps, ere summer flies, <br />Combined with millions more, <br />To form an iris in the skies, <br />Though black and foul before. <br />Illustrious drop! and happy then <br />Beyond the happiest lot, <br />Of all that ever pass’d my pen, <br />So soon to be forgot! <br />Phœbus, if such be thy design, <br />To place it in thy bow, <br />Give wit, that what is left may shine <br />With equal grace below.<br /><br />William Cowper<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ode-to-apollo-on-an-inkglass-almost-dried-in-the-sun/
