Classic Poem

WHEREIN, LURED BY LAUREL, HE FALLS INTO A GRASSY RIVULET

Upon the left bank of the Tyrrhene sea,
Where, broken by the wind, the waves complain,
I suddenly saw that haughty leaf again,
For which so many a poem pours from me:
Love, that within the heart boils fearfully,
Remembering her bright hair with golden pain,
Pressed me, till in a rivulet dark with stain
Of grasses, wandering in soft secrecy,
I fell like a dead thing... With hill and grove
About me, I felt shamed: the gentle heart
Blushes, nor needs it other spurs to love.
At least it pleases to reverse the chart
From eyes to feet: thus, spared their usual fate,
The eyes find April more compassionate.