Chapter XXIV

Methought all lovely forms were nigh,
And Beauty, with a tearful eye
Dewing the couch where I lay to die,
And singing my soul away.
And I said, fair beings, ’tis well ye know,
And the soul of a poet would have it so,
The lovely have been my friends below,
And a soul of song, in a song should go
To the world where they sing for aye.