To a Lady, XXIV

Methought all lovely forms were nigh, And Beauty, with a tearful eye Dewing the couch where I lay to die, And singing my soul away. And I said, fair beings, ’tis well ye know, And the soul of a poet would have it so, The lovely have been my friends below, And a soul of song, in a song should go To the world where they sing for aye.