Whose trembling chords will never more be mute;
And Joy and Grief would mingle in my theme,
A swan and shadow floating down a stream!
And when thou didst in soft disdain, or mirth,
Descend thy throne and walk the common earth,
I would, in brave array, precede thee round,
With pomp and pageantry and music sweet,
And spread my shining mantle on the ground,
For fear the dust should soil thy golden-sandaled feet!
Away! away! the days are dim and cold,