Life For Song

Come Muse, O Muse, so often scorned by me,
  The hope of sorrow and the balm of care,--
  Give to me speech and song, that I may be
  Unchid by grief; grant me such graces rare
  As other ministering souls may never see
  Who boast thy laurel, and thy myrtle wear.
  I know no joy wherein thou hast not part,
  My speeding wind, my anchor, and my goal,
  Come, fair Parnassus, lift thou up my heart;
  Come, Helicon, renew my thirsty soul.
  A cypress crown, O Muse, is thine to give,
  And pain eternal: take this weary frame,
  Touch me with fire, and this my death shall live
  On all men's lips and in undying fame.