Shakespeare: A Fragment

I saw thee, Shakespeare, in a morning dream,
Seated upon a throne — beautiful spirits
Ministered unto thee, and lovely songs
They murmur'd in thy ear.
First Fancy came
In cherubine sweetness — braidless her soft hair,
Unzoned her robe ; and yet in every tress,
In every wantoning fold, there was a charm
Of natural chastity.
She drew near
Delicately, like maiden to her lover,
And with a smile of dimpling witchery
She said, thou wast her own dear love, the first,
The chosen one her youth delighted in !
Then with harmonious step came Music nigh,
Bearing a broken harp ; and aye she swept
Its varying chords, mingling irregular notes
Into a lay of sweetness — and she told thee
'Twas thine own harp— with all its fairy breathings
Sacred to thee ! and dearer to her heart
Than all the measured cadences of song.