From Lucretius

Avia Pieridum peragro loca.—Lib. IV. v. 1.

Pierian heights, the Muses’ trackless haunts And wilds untrodden erst by mortal feet, O’er these I wander, haply there to find New flowers and fountains new; I love to drink Of the pure stream fresh-welling, and to cull A wreath of orient hues and odours rare, Whence never poet yet his chaplet wove.