Classic Poem

What unknown language must I seek to learn
To tell of this new seizure of my heart?
What unguessed power of what magic art?
What cryptic sesame to what buried urn?
I must have instruments of new design
Well tempered like the black obsidian;
The vintage of a rare, untasted wine,
And music sweeter than the Lydian.

Known colours cannot sing of never-known birds,
Nor rapture speak in accents heard before.
To stand as emperor before your door
I must devise a language of new words:
For you are beautiful beyond the reach
Of all our art. But I shall learn new speech!