Mother of Hermes! and still youthful Maia!
  May I sing to thee
As thou was hymnèd the shore of Baiae?
  Or may I woo thee
In earlier Sicilian? or thy smiles
Seek as they once were sought, in Grecian isles,
By bards who died content in pleasant sward,
  Leaving great verse unto a little clan?
O, give me their old vigour, and unheard
  Save of the quiet primrose, and the span
  Of Heaven and few ears,
Rounded by thee, my song should die away
  Content as theirs,
Rich in the simple worship of a day.