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HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
1807-1882
If tasting Heliconian springs
He of their waters drank not deep,
If, smiling, he beheld not things
Revealed to eyes that weep,
If dread Dodona's Oracle
And Delphi's voice for him were mute,
If grave Minerva in his path
Dropped never silver flute,—
Yet beauty wove a magic spell
For him, and early, at his need,
Upon a bed of asphodel
He found a tuneful reed,—
The Syrinx-reed Thessalian,
Of plaintive, far renown,
The universal pipe of Pan,—
Where the god laid it down.
Right reverently from the ground
He lifted up the sacred thing,
Accepted it with awe profound,
With faith unfaltering;
