No pen can e'er depict on paper;
My waltz embraced that taper waist,
Till I am wasted like a taper.
Worthy the brightest hours of Greece
Was that pure fire, or so I felt it;
Its feeder towered in steadfast peace,
While I believed for me it melted.
No use in heighos! or alacks!
My cure is past the power of money;
Too sure that form of virgin wax