"Weave the dance on the floor of the breeze,
Pierce with song heaven's silent light,
Enchant the day that too swiftly flees,
To check its flight ere the cave of night.
Once the hungry Hours were hounds
Which chased the day like a bleeding deer,
And it limped and stumbled with many wounds
Through the nightly dells of the desert year.
But now oh! weave the mystic measure
Of music, and dance, and shapes of light;
Let the Hours and the spirits of night and pleasure
Like the clouds and sunbeams unite."