Michael Drayton (1563–1631)

CLEAR Anker, on whose silver-sanded shore

My soul-shrined saint, my fair Idea, lies;

O blessèd brook, whose milk-white swans adore

Thy crystal stream, refinèd by her eyes!

There sweet myrrh-breathing Zephyr in the spring

Gently distils his nectar-dropping showers,

Where nightingales in Arden sit and sing

Amongst 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.