Some fount of youth, some pure Pactolian stream,

Some orb that beams with strange unearthly ray,

Some flaming vision potent to redeem.

The fount is dry, the vision fades away;

The mystic light that led them through the night

Dies in a marsh, and leaves them far astray.

O God, to tread but once by morning light

The alabaster palace of our dreams,

Counting its colonnades with waking sight;

To greet the lovely images that gleam