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by John Keats


Now Morning from her orient chamber came

And her first footsteps touch'd a verdant hill;

Crowning its lawny crest with amber flame

Silv'ring the untainted gushes of its rill;

Whichpure from mossy bedsdid down distill

And after parting beds of simple flowers

By many streams a little lake did fill

Which round its marge reflected woven bowers

Andin its middle spacea sky that never lowers.

There the king-fisher saw his plumage bright

Vieing with fish of brilliant dye below;

Whose silken finsand golden scales' light

Cast upwardthrough the wavesa ruby glow:

There saw the swan his neck of arched snow

And oar'd himself along with majesty;

Sparkled his jetty eyes; his feet did show

Beneath the waves like Afric's ebony

And on his back a fay reclined voluptuously.

Ah! could I tell the wonders of an isle

That in that fairest lake had placed been

I could e'en Dido of her grief beguile;

Or rob from aged Lear his bitter teen:

For sure so fair a place was never seen

Of all that ever charm'd romantic eye:

It seem'd an emerald in the silver sheen

Of the bright waters; or as when on high

Through clouds of fleecy whitelaughs the coerulean sky.

And all around it dipp'd luxuriously

Slopings of verdure through the glossy tide

Whichas it were in gentle amity

Rippled delighted up the flowery side;

As if to glean the ruddy tearsit tried

Which fell profusely from the rose-tree stem!

Haply it was the workings of its pride

In strife to throw upon the shore a gem

Outvieing all the buds in Flora's diadem. - -