LOVE’S TRIBUTES.
O that I might inspire my song with power
To crown thy brows with more than queenly dower;
To pour on thee a more than golden shower,
And fill thy soul with sunshine every hour.
Time breaks at last the lyre’s sweetest strings,
And palls the sweetest note the minstrel sings,
And riches fly away on falcon wings:
Love only to his trust unchanging clings.
Then be my song of whatsoe’er degree,