A poem praising the Muse, a mythological spirit of nature imagined as a lovely maiden.
|SHE beams with joy, like one in love
with love itself and all that’s bright;
and when the Grecian gods above
unloose her from the mountain sprite,
she descends like a gentle dove
with the rays of the Day-spring's light.
With golden locks, like flax most fair,
and liquid, limpid eyes so blue,
none are like her or can compare
to her likeness and lustrous hue
which give sight to the blind who dare
request to see God's Light anew.
Thus pre-ordained as mythic Muse
and well-revered as though a saint,
whom none can deny or refuse
or with vile words destroy or taint,
let all beings therefore freely choose
to worship her without constraint.