Here from the rifted rock, where boldly rise <br />The ilex shining with perennial green, <br />The gloomy pine, the beech's vivid skreen, <br />Hoar oaks that throw their branches to the skies; <br />While 'mid the boles the zephyr gently sighs, <br />And woodbines sweet, and lychen, creep between, <br />Amid the stillness of the sylvan scene, <br />Tranquil the silver-bosom'd Naiad lies; <br />While from her urn the rills redundant glide, <br />Where his broad flood majestic Thames displays. <br />Nor thou with haughty look, Imperial Tide, <br />Upon the clear though scanty tribute gaze; <br />Ne'er will the powers of Heaven itself deride <br />The humblest gift the unsullied bosom pays.<br /><br />Henry James Pye<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-ii-written-at-cliefden-spring/
