And Shade The Violets, That They May

O For The Gentleness Of Old Romance, The Simple Planning Of A Minstrel's Song!

So Let Me Be Thy Choir, And Make A Moan Upon The Midnight Hours.

Open Afresh Your Rounds Of Starry Folds, Ye Ardent Marigolds.

Their Woes Gone By, And Both To Heaven Upflown, To Bow For Gratitude Before Jove's Throne.

Dry Your Eyes O Dry Your Eyes, For I Was Taught In Paradise To Ease My Breast Of Melodies.