Sonnet LX

Why view'st thou, Edwy, with disdainful mien

The little Naiad of the Downton Wave?

High 'mid the rocks, where her clear waters lave

The circling, gloomy basin.—In such scene,

Silent, sequester'd, few demand, I ween,

That last perfection Phidian chisels gave.

Dimly the soft and musing Form is seen

In the hush'd, shelly, shadowy, lone concave.—

As sleeps her pure, tho' darkling fountain there,

I love to recollect her, stretch'd supine

Upon its mossy brink, with pendent hair,

As dripping o'er the flood.—Ah! well combine

Such gentle graces, modest, pensive, fair,

To aid the magic of her watry shrine.