Chief Of Organic Numbers! Old Scholar Of The Spheres! Thy Spirit Never Slumbers, But Rolls About Our Ears For Ever And For Ever. O, What A Mad Endeavour Worketh He Who, To Thy Sacred And Ennobled Hearse, Would Offer A Burnt Sacrifice Of Verse And Melody! How Heavenward Thou Soundedst Live Temple Of Sweet Noise; And Discord Unconfoundedst: Giving Delight New Joys, And Pleasure Nobler Pinions O Where Are Thy Dominions! Lend Thine Ear To A Young Delian Oath Aye, By Thy Soul, By All That From Thy Mortal Lips Did Roll; And By The Kernel Of Thine Earthly Love, Beauty, In Things On Earth And Things Above, When Every Childish Fashion Has Vanish'D From My Rhyme Will I Grey-Gone In Passion Give To An After-Time Hymning And Harmony Of Thee, And Of Thy Words And Of Thy Life: But Vain Is Now The Bruning And The Strife Pangs Are In Vain Until I Grow High-Rife With Old Philosophy And Mad With Glimpses At Futurity! For Many Years My Offerings Must Be Hush'D: When I Do Speak I'll Think Upon This Hour, Because I Feel My Forehead Hot And Flush'D, Even At The Simplest Vassal Of Thy Power, A Lock Of Thy Bright Hair! Sudden It Came, And I Was Startled When I Heard Thy Name Coupled So Unaware Yet, At The Moment, Temperate Was My Blood: Methought I Had Beheld It From The Flood.