Thy body gazed upon, Thy Mind
Regarded as an absentee!
Thou who dost hand the cup of wine
To stir the heart till it let free
The prisoned spirit—form divine—
Art wronged by many a devotee!
The music sweet, and she whose face
Is soft illumed, and echoed laugh,
As gayety grows on apace,
Fill not the goblet that I quaff.