The lay which Genius, in its loneliness,
Its own still world, amidst th’ o’erpeopled world,
Hath ever breathed to Love.
“They crown me with the glistening crown,
Borne from a deathless tree;
I hear the pealing music of renown—
O Love! forsake me not!
Mine were a lone, dark lot,
Bereft of thee!
They tell me that my soul can throw