I seem to meet their least desire,
⁠To clap their cheeks, to call them mine.
⁠I see their unborn faces shine
Beside the never-lighted fire.

I see myself an honour'd guest,
⁠Thy partner in the flowery walk
⁠Of letters, genial table-talk,
Or deep dispute, and graceful jest:

While now thy prosperous labour fills
⁠The lips of men with honest praise,
⁠And sun by sun the happy days
Descend below the golden hills

With promise of a morn as fair;
⁠And all the train of bounteous hours
⁠Conduct by paths of growing powers,
To reverence and the silver hair;

Till slowly worn her earthly robe,
⁠Her lavish mission richly wrought,
⁠Leaving great legacies of thought,
Thy spirit should fail from off the globe;