My Goddess

SAY, which Immortal
Merits the highest reward?
With none contend I,
But I will give it
To the aye-changing,
Ever-moving

Wondrous daughter of Jove.
His best-beloved offspring.
Sweet Phantasy.
For unto her
Hath he granted
All the fancies which erst

To none allow'd he
Saving himself;
Now he takes his pleasure
In the mad one.
She may, crowned with roses,
With staff twined round with lilies,

Roam thro' flow'ry valleys,
Rule the butterfly-people,
And soft-nourishing dew
With bee-like lips
Drink from the blossom:
Or else she may

With fluttering hair
And gloomy looks
Sigh in the wind
Round rocky cliffs,
And thousand-hued.
Like morn and even.

Ever changing,
Like moonbeam's light,
To mortals appear.
Let us all, then,
Adore the Father!
The old, the mighty,

Who such a beauteous
Ne'er-fading spouse
Deigns to accord
To perishing mortals!
To us alone
Doth he unite her,

With heavenly bonds,
While he commands her,
in joy and sorrow,
As a true spouse
Never to fly us.
All the remaining

Races so poor
Of life-teeming earth.
In children so rich.
Wander and feed
In vacant enjoyment,
And 'mid the dark sorrows

Of evanescent
Restricted life,--
Bow'd by the heavy
Yoke of Necessity.
But unto us he
Hath his most versatile,

Most cherished daughter
Granted,--what joy!
Lovingly greet her
As a beloved one!
Give her the woman's
Place in our home!

And oh, may the aged
Stepmother Wisdom
Her gentle spirit
Ne'er seek to harm!
Yet know I her sister,
The older, sedater,

Mine own silent friend;
Oh, may she never,
Till life's lamp is quench'd,
Turn away from me,--
That noble inciter,
Comforter,--Hope!