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Give me a
golden pen, and let me lean
On heaped-up flowers, in
regions clear, and far;
Bring me a tablet whiter than
a star,
Or hand of hymning angel, when 'tis seen
The silver strings of heavenly harp atween:
And let
there glide by many a pearly car
Pink robes, and wavy
hair, and diamond jar,
And half-discovered wings, and
glances keen.
The while let music wander round my
ears,
And as it reaches each delicious ending,
Let
me write down a line of glorious tone,
And full of
many wonders of the spheres:
For what a height my
spirit is contending!
'Tis not content so soon to be
alone.
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