I would, I would — with harp and string,
Th’ Atridae bold and Cadmus sing;
But all my harp-strings yield their tone
To love alone, to love alone.
This harp (of late) I chang’d, full well.
The cordage first and then the shell,
And sung th’ Herculean toils sublime;
But she wild wanton, harp (the time)
Was sounding music of her own
To love alone, to love alone.
Ye might heroes, then, to you
For evermore, adieu! adieu!
For lo! my harp will yield her tone
To love alone, to love alone.