Decline of the Imagination

Why have ye linger'd on your way so long,
Bright visions, who were wont to hear my call,
And with the harmony of dance and song
Keep round my dreaming couch a festival?
Where are ye gone, with all your eyes of light,
And where the flowery voice I loved to hear,
When, through the silent watches of the night,
Ye whisper'd like an angel in my ear?
O! fly not with the rapid wing of time,
But with your ancient votary kindly stay;
And while the loftier dreams, that rose sublime
In years of higher hope, have flown away:
O! with the colours of a softer clime,
Give your last touches to the dying day.