Excerpt from Endymion and the Longer Poems
Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring, Bless Cynthia's face, the enthusiast's friend?
Yet over the steep, whence the mountain-stream rushes, With you, kindest friends, in idea I rove Mark the clear tumbling crystal, its... passionate gushes, Its spray, that the wild ¿ower kindly bedews.
Why linger ye so, the wild labyrinth strolling? Why breathless, unable your bliss to declare? Ah I you list to the nightingale's tender condoling.
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