FROM
I d e a.
by Michael Drayton
LIII.
CLEAR Anker, on whose silver-sanded shore
My soul-shrined saint, my fair Idea, lies,
Oh blessed brook, whose milk-white swans adore
The crystal stream refinèd by her eyes,
Where sweet myrrh-breathing Zephyr in the Spring
Gently distils his nectar-dropping showers,
Where nightingales in Arden sit and sing
Among the dainty dew-impearlèd flowers ;
Say thus, fair brook, when thou shalt see thy Queen,
“ Lo, here thy shepherd spent his wandering years,
And in these shades, dear nymph, he oft hath been,
And here to thee he sacrificed his tears.”
Fair Arden, thou my Tempe art alone,
And thou, sweet Anker, art my Helicon.
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Michael Drayton
