Song in an Archaic Manner

Sweetest sweets that Time hath rifled,
Live anew on lyric tongue—
Tresses with which Paris trifled,
Lips to Antony's that clung.
These surrender not their rose,
Nor their golden puissance those.

Vain the envious loam that covers
Her of Egypt, her of Troy:
Helen's, Cleopatra's lovers
Still desire them, still enjoy.
Fate but stole what Song restored:
Vain the aspic, vain the cord.

Idly clanged the sullen portal,
Idly the sepulchral door:
Fame the mighty, Love the immortal,
These than foolish dust are more:
Nor may captive Death refuse
Homage to the conquering Muse.
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