A body of beauty is mine.
O poet, moulder of me,
Withhold not the breath divine,
The soul of truth that makes free.
Fair form in repose for a day
(The body of beauty of me)
With the pulse-beats of life all away,
Is well, for beauty and thee.
Yet give to me life all aglow,—
Not a demon of darkness to blight,
But a love-lit soul pure as snow,—
Beckon me an angel of light.
A body of beauty is mine.
O poet, moulder of me,
Inbreathe with breathings divine,
Or body alone let it be.