ON A FOUNTAIN AND ITS ARCHITECT by PHILIP AYRES

A WAT'RY heap by a fresh torrent fed,
Hoary with froth, lifts up its reverend head,
Whence various currents falling, their recoil
Makes them, when cold as ice, appear to boil.

Out from his temples in an artful crown
Clear drops, like strings of pearls, come trickling down,
Which quickly caught, and thence dispers'd again,
Seem like a cloud burst into showers of rain.

As once Enceladus, our architect,
Great heaps on heaps of marble does erect;
And, like a second Moses, when that's done,
Commands fresh springs of water from the stone.

When Heav'ns are clear, this man, a second Jove,
From earth exhales the waters up above,
And thence in cataracts can make them pour,
When in the sky there's neither cloud nor shower.

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