Of tinted wavelets, such as ne’er before
Had blest my seeing; on one side a shore
Slipt past us backward, thickly over-bowed
With flowered shrubs and trees, all such as flee
Harsh Boreal bitings where the North blows loud.
And now a quay we neared, whence led aback
Full many a leafy-hung, nymph-haunted track.
Then, slow-ascending a white marble stair,
A grove we entered in, all carpeted
With rarest moss, and every way there led