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