" Thy tastes become a lady fair, 



Thou lov'st the pure and crystal stream 

 Whose waters ripple brightly where 



Old ivied fanes reflected gleam, 

 And in clear depths, inverted show 



The bankflowers where the bee doth feed, 

 Or 'neath whose currents lushly grow 

 The tender greens of waving weed." 



COTSWOLD ISYS, in " Lyra Piscatoria." 



