Oh Pleasure come! — and far, far hence
Expel that nun, Indifference! —
Where'er she waves her ebon wand,
Drencht in the dull Lethaean deep,
Behold the marble Passions stand
Absorb'd in everlasting sleep!
Then from the waste and barren mind
The Muse's fairy-phantoms fly;
They fly, nor leave a wreck behind
Of heaven-descended Poesy:
Love's thrilling tumults then are felt no more,
Quencht is the generous heat, the rapturous throbs are o'er!