AFTER THE ANTIQUE.

Light-girded Phœbus, Phœbus, here
Beside thy gold-shod feet I shear
My boyhood's hair so fair, so long
My mother's joy, behold it there,
Gone from me like my nurse's song!
A man from hence, O let me wear
Thy dark leaves round my temples bare,
Give me the ivy crown to-day,
Place in my hand the bough of bay!