Lady, I rifled a Parnassian Cave
(But seldom trod) of mildly-gleaming ore;
And cull'd, from sundry beds, a lucid store
Of genuine crystals, pure as those that pave
The azure brooks where Dian joys to lave
Her spotless limbs; and ventured to explore
Dim shades—for reliques, upon Lethe's shore,
Cast up at random by the sullen wave.
To female hands the treasures were resign'd
And lo! this work—a grotto bright—and clear .mw-parser-output .wst-pline{color:#2E8B57;font-size:83%}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-default2{margin-left:1em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-r{float:right;text-indent:0;margin-left:1em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-l{float:left;text-align:right;margin-left:-3em;width:2.5em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-or{float:right;text-align:right;margin-right:-3em;width:2.5em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-n{font-style:normal}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-i{font-style:italic}10
From stain or taint, in which thy blameless mind
May feed on thoughts tho' pensive not austere;
And if thy deeper spirit be inclined
To holy musings, it may enter here.