Sonnets: Idea LIII Another To The River Ankor

Clear Ankor, on whose silver-sanded shore, My soul-shrined saint, my fair Idea lives; O bless'd brook, whose milk-white swans adore Thy crystal stream, refin'd by her eyes, Where sweet myrrh-breathing Zephyr in the spring Gently distils his nectar-dropping showers, Where nightingales in Arden sit and sing Amongst the dainty dew-impearl'd flowers; Say thus, fair brook, when thou shalt see thy queen, "Lo, here thy shepherd spent his wand'ring 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 Ankor, art my Helicon!