Youth and Beauty, met in one,
Are thy kingdom, thine alone;
And was ever crown more fair
Than the crown which thou dost wear?
Loveliness upon a time
Lifted up a throne sublime:
"Who shall sit thereon?" asked we,
And he pointed, love, to thee.
Let thy gentle spirit now
O'er thy kingdom softly flow,
As the cerulean skies
Flow serenely in thine eyes.
Whensoever Youth displays
Beauty all in glory's blaze,
Vaunting wondrous brilliancy,
Youth attributes all to thee
Never plangent nightingale
Sang sad music in the dale
But he poured his passionate sighs
In thy ear, to sympathize
Through the fragrant afternoons
Lo, the prostate garden swoons
With the frankincense expressed
From thy soft and tender breast
And the rose, that sought in vain
Thy rare beauty to attain,
Slays herself in jealous mood
To suffuse thy cheeks with blood
And the amorous butterflies
Now their favourite flowers despise,
Since the warm breeze of the south
Whispered to them of thy mouth
Men have raised thy image there
To embody Beauty fair,
And in reverence complete
Fall adoring at thy feet.