Take wings of fancy, and ascend,
      And in a moment set thy face
      Where all the starry heavens of space
Are sharpen'd to a needle's end;

Take wings of foresight; lighten thro'
      The secular abyss to come,
      And lo, thy deepest lays are dumb
Before the mouldering of a yew;

And if the matin songe, that woke
      The darkness of our planet, last,
      Thine own shall wither in the vast,
Ere half the lifetime of an oak.

Ere these have clothed their branchy bowers
      With fifty Mays, thy songs are vain;
      And what are they when these remain
The ruin'd shells of hollow towers?


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Last modified 16 February 2010