Classic Poem

So on the stream the silver swan
Gracefully slow is wafted on
Adown the gentle tide.
Unseen her [flying] feet she plies;
Erect her chest, abashed her eyes
With decent modest pride.

Behold her move along the green;
Behold her shape, her air, her mien!
What dignity! What ease!
But if she dance, the Graces seem
Employed to harmonise each limb,
And guide her through the maze.