Keats

An English lad, who, reading in a book, A ponderous, leathern thing set on his knee, Saw the broad violet of the Egean Sea Lap at his feet as it were village brook. Wide was the east; the gusts of morning shook; Immortal laughter beat along that shore; Pan, crouching in the reeds, piped as of yore; The gods came down and thundered from that book. He lifted his sad eyes; his London street Swarmed in the sun, and strove to make him heed; Boys spun their tops, shouting and fair of cheek: But, still, that violet lapping at his feet,— An English lad had he sat down to read; But he rose up and knew himself a Greek.