And press thy tender form unto my lips!
Fair as the Naiad of the Grecian stream,
And beautiful as Oread of the lawn;
Bright-beaming as the iv'ry-palac'd dream,
And melting as the dewy Urns of Dawn.
For thee I strike the sounding Lyre of Song,
And hymn the Beautiful, the Good, the True;
The dying notes of thankfulness prolong,
And light the Beacon-fires of Praise for you.
Butter'd Ideal of Life's coarser food!