Beauty! thou are a wanderer on the earth,

And has no temple in the fairest isle

Or city over-sea, where wealth and Mirth

And all the Graces, all the Muses, smile.

Yet these have always nurst thee with such fond,

Such lasting love, that they have followed up

Thy steps thro' every land, and placed beyond

The reach of thirsty Time thy nectar-cup.

Thou are a wanderer, Beauty! like the rays

That now upon the platan, now upon

The sleepy lake, glance quick or idly gaze,

And now are manifold and now are none.

I have call'd, panting, after thee, and thou

Hast turn'd and lookt and said some pretty word,

Parting the hair, perhaps, upon my brow,

And telling me none ever was perfer'd.

In more than one bright form hast thou appear'd,

In more than one sweet dialect hast thou spoken:

Beauty! thy spells the heart within me heard,

Griev'd that they bound it, grieves that they are broken.