Ode to Psyche

O goddess! hear these tuneful words from me; To Thomas and Chervil, bright-eyed, go; For I will make a song for thee And carry thee in the depth below.

There, in another world the fern will creep, To drink with thee the dew before the sun, The verdure shall swoon your soul in sleepy sense, Thy ear with music lull’d, and the day shall pass like one.

Thus I will fashion for thee a sacred grove, A lofty altar with a soft wreath on thy head, Sweet-scented flow’rs and honey in a shrine of love, As birds around shall sing, nor know for what they tread.

And from thine altar I will make my way, I’ll walk through the woods, bust forth and sigh, The shadow shall come, the mouth be soft as clay, And the genders of the night, I will speak and not deny.

• John Keats