Had I a realm in some enchanted zone, Some fadeless summer-land, I’d dwell alone, Far from the little world, luxurious, free, And woo the dainty damsel Poesy! I’d loll on downy couches all the day, And dream the heavy-wingéd hours away: Reading my antique books, or framing songs, Whose choiceness to an earlier age belongs, Or else a loving maid, in gentle fear, Would steal to me, from her pavilion near, And kneel before me with a cup of wine, Three centuries old, and I would sip and taste, With long-delaying lips a draught divine; And, peering o’er the brim in her blue eyes Slow-misting, and voluptuous, she would rise, And stoop to me, and I would clasp her waist, And kiss her mouth, and shake her hanging curls— And in her coy despite undo her zone of pearls! Oh, Poesy! my spirits crownéd queen, I would that thou couldst in the flesh be seen The shape of perfect loveliness thou art Enshrined within the chambers of my heart! I would build thee a palace, richer far Than princely Aladeen’s renowned of old; Its walls and columns of the massiest gold, And every gem encrusting it a star! Thy throne should be an Alp, o’ercanopied With rainbows, and a shielded Moon o’erhead; Thy coffers should o’erflow, and mock the Ind, Whose boasted wealth would dwindle into naught The rich-ored driftings of the streams of Thought Washed lucidly from cloven peaks of Mind!— And I would bring to thee the daintiest things That grow beneath the summer of thy wings;— Wine from the Grecian vineyards, pressed with care, Brimming in cups antique, and goblets rare, And sweeter honey than the singing bees Of Helios ever gathered on the leas Olympian, distilled from asphodels, Whose lucent nectar truckles from their cells! And luscious fruitage of enchanted trees, The peerless apples of the Hesperides, Stolen by Fancy from the guardant Fates, Served, by a Nubian slave, on golden plates! And I would hang around thee day and night, Nor ever heed, or know the night from day; If Time had wings, I should not see his flight, Or feel his shadow in my sunny way! Forgetful of the world, I’d stand apart, And gaze on thee unseen, and touch my lute, Sweet-voiced, a type and image of my heart, Whose trembling chords will never more be mute; And Joy and Grief would mingle in my theme, A swan and shadow floating down a stream! And when thou didst in soft disdain, or mirth, Descend thy throne and walk the common earth,