THE NARCISSUS. 
HAT first inspired a bard of old to sing 
Narcissus pining o’er the untainted spring? 
In some delicious ramble he had found 
A little space, with boughs all woven round ; 
And in the midst of all a clearer pool 
Than e’er reflected in its pleasant cool 
The blue sky, here and there serenely peeping, 
Through tendril wreaths fantastically creeping; 
And on the bank a lonely flower he spied, 
A meek and forlorn flower, with nought of pride, 
Drooping its beauty o’er the watery clearness, 
To woo its own sad image into nearness ; 
Deaf to light Zephyrus it would not move, 
But still would seem to droop, to pine, to love. 
So while the poet stood in this sweet spot, 
Some fainter gleamings o’er his fancy shot; 
Nor was it long ere he had told the tale 
Of young Narcissus, and sad Echo’s vale. 
Keats. 
