Invocation

Where wilt thou lead me first? In what still region Of thy domain, Whose provinces are legion, Wilt thou restore me to myself again, And quench my heart's long thirst? I pray thee lay thy golden girdle down, And put away thy starry crown: For one dear restful hour Assume a state more mild. Clad only in thy blossom-broidered gown That breathes familiar scent of many a flower, Take the low path that leads through pastures green; And though thou art a Queen, Be Rosamund awhile, and in thy bower, By tranquil love and simple joy beguiled, Sing to my soul, as mother to her child.