VI to—
A handmaid to the genius of thy songIs sweet, fair Scholarship. ’Tis she suppliesThe fiery spirit of the passioned eyesWith subtle syllables, whose notes belongTo some chief source of perfect melodies;And glancing through a laurelled, lordly throngOf shining singers, lo! my vision fliesTo William Shakespeare! He it is whose strong,Full, flute-like music haunts thy stately verse.A worthy Levite of his court thou art!One sent among us to defeat the curseThat binds us to the Actual. Yea, thy part,Oh, lute-voiced lover! is to lull the heartOf love repelled, its darkness to disperse.