 | The Cup of Quietness |  |
42
Many the crownéd heads of music;—thou
Of song's wide realms art emperor alone;
No rival hath assailed that peerless throne,
Such splendour shines upon no other brow;
Poets before thy footstool pay their vow;
Thou keep'st a state whereat proud kings fall prone,
A majesty of music all thine own,
A sway to which the laureled masters bow.
Of song's wide realms art emperor alone;
No rival hath assailed that peerless throne,
Such splendour shines upon no other brow;
Poets before thy footstool pay their vow;
Thou keep'st a state whereat proud kings fall prone,
A majesty of music all thine own,
A sway to which the laureled masters bow.
To thee the lords of song ascribe their fame,
For thee the chiming spheres attune their fires;
To all the ends of earth thy glorious name
Resounds, while high in heaven immortal lyres
Salute thee, and the streets of gold acclaim
Thy worth with plaudits of celestial choirs.
For thee the chiming spheres attune their fires;
To all the ends of earth thy glorious name
Resounds, while high in heaven immortal lyres
Salute thee, and the streets of gold acclaim
Thy worth with plaudits of celestial choirs.
| The Cup of Quietness | |