What have you given me oh mighty muse Who served you eyes and mouth and tooth and nail, Who burned my midnight oil to spread your news And backed my warm south wind against your sail? What have your phantom kisses ever brought But greater hunger to my virgin mouth? Where is the warm hand I have vainly sought From rim of frozen North to rim of South? When has my sorrow been for you the less? Oh I am sick of words of pen and ink, Of all your clamour in my constant breast, Sick of soul and brain and power to think. Give me a face whose Beauty speaks aloud Through moonlight bent upon the wind and cloud. |