The robed King of the mighty woods appeared
The moss lain dryads are lulled to sleep
Branch charmed by the earnest stars
And the stars will fade from the sky
The moon will fall in the sea
Dream and so dream all night without a stir
As if the ebbing air had but one wave
A land of ancient chivalry
So came these words
And so they went
Flowing tears
Fluttering amongst the Olympians
I see
And I sing
By my own eyes inspired
Upon those midnight hours
Thy oracle
Thy grove
Thy voice
Thy lute
Thy incense sweet
Thy shrine
Of prophet dreaming
Show me the holy night
Show me the rising sun
Utterly amazed were those Titans
O leave them, Muse!
O leave them to their woes
Many a fallen divinity
Of deities or mortals
Or of both
In the vale of Tempe or the hills of Arcady?
What men or gods are these?
What mad pursuit?
What struggle to escape?
What timbrels?
What wild ecstasy?
Wandering in vain about these bewildered shores
Meantime touch piously the Delphic harp
In aid soft warble from the Dorian flute
Through all these labyrinths
Embowered Cyclades
With thine olives green
In which the Zephyr breathes the loudest song
Apollo is once more the golden theme
And his twin-sister sleeping in their bower
And in the morning twilight wandered forth
Beside the osiers of a rivulet
During the pain Mnemosyne upheld
O Goddess of time
Her arms as one who prophesied
O Muse
Celestial
