To E.L., On His Travels In Greece
By Alfred Lord Tennyson
Illyrian woodlands, echoing falls
Of water, sheets of summer glass,
The long divine Penean pass,
The vast Akrokeraunian walls,
Tomohrit, Athos, all things fair,
With such a pencil, such a pen,
You shadow forth to distant men,
I read and felt that I was there:
And trust me while I turnd the page,
And trackd you still on classic ground,
I grew in gladness till I found
My spirits in the golden age.
For me the torrent ever pourd
And glistendhere and there alone
The broad-limbd Gods at random thrown
By fountain-urns;and Naiads oard
A glimmering shoulder under gloom
Of cavern pillars; on the swell
The silver lily heaved and fell;
And many a slope was rich in bloom
From him that on the mountain lea
By dancing rivulets fed his flocks
To him who sat upon the rocks,
And fluted to the morning sea.