On Leaving Some Friends at an Early Hour

Give me a golden pen, and let me lean

   On heaped-up flowers, in regions clear and far.

   Bring me a tablet whiter than a star,

Or hand of hymning angel when 'tis seen

The silver strings of heavenly harp atween.

   And let there glide by many a pearly car,

   Pink robes, and wavy hair, and diamond jar,

And half-discovered wings, and glances keen.

The while let music wander round my ears,

   And as it reaches each delicious ending,

      Let me write down a line of glorious tone,

And full of many wonders of the spheres:

   For what a height my spirit is contending!

      'Tis not content so soon to be alone.