Majestic Thames, whose ample current flows, <br />The wood reflecting in its silver tide, <br />Which, hanging from the hills that grace thy side, <br />O'er this clear fount its massy foliage throws; <br />Here on thy brink my limbs again repose: <br />Yet though thy waves Augusta's towers divide, <br />Or by the foot of princely Windsor glide; <br />Still with more heartfelt joy my bosom glows, <br />While memory shows by Isis' virgin stream, <br />Where first I woo'd the witching powers of song, <br />As wrapt in fancy's sweet delusive dream, <br />I desultory rov'd her banks along, <br />Nor ask'd a brighter wreath to grace my theme, <br />Than humbly grew her willowy shades among.<br /><br />Henry James Pye<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-i-written-at-cliefden-spring/
