Sing out in verse, O sing again,Gladden the captive heart from pain;
And fill the heart with love's own fire,From radiance and perfume's desire;
And fill the soul with clarity,O singer of authority;
Grant me a tune within the heart —Its melody is purest art;
O singer, with my very soul,Thy living verse makes spirits whole;
In garden shadows, passion lostIts lofty, towering love's high cost;
Thou camest, setting it to songWith inspiration deep and strong;
It is the pulse of every lay,The birds' own melody at play;
Song of the meadows, whispered tuneOf flowers beneath the radiant moon;
Solace for sorrow's heavy breast,And melody for streams at rest;
For poetry is life entire,And light unto the blind's desire.
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