Steal one note from the silver babble that tells all Heaven a lark ascends!
Stretch but a claw toward the dream-voiced pipes that Pan left whispering under a tree!
Flute thou the tune to the rapturous dancers, let Io Hymen your cadence be!
“Io Hymen!”, a chorus of voices sung in the temple of Love the bright,
“Eros, lord of the honey and flame, we bring you guests for your hall to-night!
Grant them such marriage of heart and purpose as mates the hand to the perfect sword,
The lips of courage, the eyes of truth, and the body of ecstasy, Eros, Lord!
Grant that their years like rocketing gems of a necklace snapped at the throat of a priest,
Differ from each by the color and shape, but in ardor and excellence none are least!
Loose on them Trouble and Pain, swift leopards, to be taught and tamed by their crystal wills!