Imitation of Spenser by John Keats — Read

Now Morning from her orient chamber came, / And her first footsteps touch'd a verdant hill; / Crowning its lawny crest with amber flame, / Silv'ring the untainted gushes of its rill; / Which, pure from mossy beds, did down distil, / And after parting beds of simple flowers, / By many streams a little lake did fill, / Which round its marge reflected woven bowers, / And, in its middle space, a sky that never lowers.

There the kingfisher saw his plumage bright, / Vying with fish of brilliant dye below; / Whose silken fins, and golden scales' light / Cast upward, through the waves, a ruby glow: