Classic Poem

Cleere Ankor , on whose Silver-sanded shore,
My Soule-shrin'd Saint, my faire Idea lies,
O blessed Brooke, whose milke-white Swans adore,
Thy Cristall streame refined by her Eyes,
Where sweet Myrrh-breathing Zephire in the Spring,
Gently distills his Nectar-dropping showres,
Where Nightingales in Arden sit and sing,
Amongst the daintie Dew-impearled flowers;
Say thus faire Brooke, when thou shalt see thy Queene,
Loe, heere thy Shepheard spent his wandring yeeres;
And in these Shades, deare Nymph, he oft hath beene,
And heere to Thee he sacrific'd his Teares:
 Faire Arden , thou my Tempe art alone,
 And thou, sweet Ankor , art my Helicon .