Love will conquer at the last.
O Blackbird! sing me something well: While all the neighbors shoot thee round, I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground, Where thou may'st warble, eat and dwell.
A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, And most divinely fair.
And out of darkness came the hands that reach through nature, moulding men.
Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?
Her court was pure, her life serene; God gave her peace; her land reposed; A thousand claims to reverence closed.