Classic Poem

The muse of melody from nameless gloom,
Courts the pale bards of earth to win their song:
In wondrous tones she sings the weird night long
Peans of life or lullabies of the tomb.

Delicious anthems from her essence bloom,
In Babels of soft sound, that blend and throng,
To tempt some lover, who, of fancy strong,
Can in bold thought her suavest charm assume.

You who have gazed on calm Italian nights,
Upon the muse with meditative eyes,
Did not then follow in the grander flights
Her warbling soul, nor yearn for Mozart's prize,
But were content, and fame thy toil requites,
To mark the deathless music of her sighs!