Classic Poem

O mercury, lend me your twisted staff,
And lend me your winged shoon;
For I would away, like a shooting-star,
To the other side of the moon,
And find me a little wee world alone,
A tiny planet to call my own;
Where song-birds wanton, unscathed by man,
And sing as never an earth-bird can;
Where streamlets murmur, " Forget, forget! "
And never a tear has fallen yet.

There would I fly in each vexed mood,
To rest in the bosom of solitude.
On shell-pink blossoms at ease I 'd lie,
While the young buds crooned me a lullaby:
There a rich accord is the voice of all,
And even the dew hath a silver fall:
There delicate beings of heavenly birth,
Too fair and fragile to live on earth,
Flit and flutter in airy play,
And laugh wild music the livelong day.

There fruit-trees cluster, and creepers twine,
And there would I mingle a nectar wine;
And I would distil, from the plants above,
A magical perfume and call it " Love. "

Then gayly return to the world of men,
And keep my secret from mortal ken;
Up and down through the earth to go,
And ever a heavenly breeze should blow
And waft my perfume to each man's heart
Till all make proof of its soothing art;
And loving-kindness, and joy, and rest,
Should heal the sorrows of each man's breast.
Then, Mercury, lend me your twisted staff,
And lend me your cap and shoon;
For I would away, like a shooting-star,
To the other side of the moon.