Poet. Enchanting Spirit! At Thy Votive Shrine I Lowly Bend One Simple Wreath To Twine; O Come From Thy Ideal World And Fling Thy Airy Fingers O'Er My Rugged String; Sweep The Dark Chords Of Thought And Give To Earth The Wild Sweet Song That Tells Thy Heavenly Birth-- Fancy. Happiness, When From Earth She Fled, I Passed On Her Heaven-Ward Flight,-- "Take This Wreath," The Spirit Said, "And Bathe It In Floods Of Light; To The Sons Of Sorrow This Token Give, And Bid Them Follow My Steps And Live!" I Took The Wreath From Her Radiant Hand, Each Flower Was A Silver Star; I Turned This Dark Earth To A Fairy Land, When I Hither Drove My Car; But I Wove The Wreath Round My Tresses Bright, And Man Only Saw Its Reflected Light. Many A Lovely Dream I've Given, And Many A Song Divine, But Never--Oh Never!--That Wreath From Heaven Shall Mortal Temples Twine. Hope And Love In The Chaplet Glow: 'Tis All Too Bright For A World Of Woe! Poet. Hist--Beautiful Spirit! Why Silent So Soon? My Soul Drinks Each Word Of Thy Magical Tune; My Lyre Owns Thy Touch, And Its Tremulous Strings Still Vibrate Beneath The Soft Play Of Thy Wings! Resume Thy Sweet Lay, And Reveal, Ere We Part, Thy Home, Lovely Spirit,--And Say What Thou Art. Fancy. The Gleam Of A Star Which Thou Canst Not See, Or An Eye 'Neath Its Sleeping Lid, The Tune Of A Far Off Melody, The Voice Of A Stream That's Hid; Such Must I Still Remain To Thee, A Wonder And A Mystery. I Live In The Poet'S Dream, I Flash On The Painter'S Eye, I Dwell In The Moon'S Pale Beam, In The Depths Of The Star-Lit Sky; I Traverse The Earth, The Air, The Main, And Bind Young Hearts In My Golden Chain. I Float On The Crimson Cloud, My Voice Is In Every Breeze, I Speak In The Tempest Loud, In The Sigh Of The Wind-Stirred Trees; To The Sons Of Earth, In A Magic Tone, I Tell Of A World More Bright Than Their Own!