----------"Breathe softly, flutes;
Be tender of your strings, ye soothing lutes;
Nor be the trumpet heard! O vain, O vain!
Nor flowers budding in an April rain,
Nor breath of sleeping dove, nor river's flow--
No, nor the Oeolian twang of Love's own bow,
Can mingle music fit for the soft ear
Of goddess Cytheraea!
Yet deign, white queen of beauty, thy fair eyes
On our souls' sacrifice."