O Golden-tongued Romance, with serene lute!

Fair plumed syren, queen of far-away!

Leave melodizing on this wintry day,

Shut up thine olden pages, and be mute.

Adieu! For once again, the fierce dispute

Betwixt damnation and impassion'd clay

Must I burn through; once more humbly assay

The Bitter-sweet of this Shakespearean fruit.

Chief Poet! And ye clouds of Albion,

Begetters of our deep eternal theme!

When through the old oak forest I am gone,

Let me not wander in a barren dream:

But, when I am consumed in the fire,

Give me new phoenix wings to fly at my desire.