Invocation

Thou,—whose endearing hand once laid in sooth
Upon thy follower, no want thenceforth,
Nor toil, nor joy and pain, nor waste of years
Filled with all cares that deaden and subdue,
Can make thee less to him—can make thee less
Than sovereign queen, his first liege, and his last
Remembered to the unconscious dying hour,—
Return and be thou kind, bright Spirit of song.
Thou whom I yet loved most, loved most of all
Even when I left thee—I, now so long strayed
From thy beholding! And renew, renew
Thy gift to me fain clinging to thy robe!
Still be thou kind, for still thou wast most dear.