Song such as this hath need of no man's praise;

Beauty like this can be concealed from none;

Why should I hold a candle to the rays

Of such a sun?

Only the pen that out of dewdrops wrought

So new and maidenlike a loveliness,

To clothe the virgin freshness of his thought,

We thank and bless.

Art has no equal to this piece of wit,

Nor nature on so rare a fancy fell,

Magic or miracle, or maybe it

Is Gabriel.

True singing still a mystery remains,—

Never such pearls as these were bored and strung,—

Never the singer of the song explains

How it was sung.

[Ode 591]