O BID the minstrel tune his harp, <br />And bid the minstrel sing; <br />And let it be a perfect strain <br />That round the hall shall ring: <br />A strain to throb in lady's heart, <br />To brim the warrior's soul, <br />As dew fills up the summer rose <br />And wine the lordly bowl! <br /> <br />O let the minstrel's voice ring clear, <br />His touch sweep gay and light; <br />Nor let his glittering tresses know <br />One streak of wintry white. <br />And let the light of ruddy June <br />Shine in his joyous eyes, <br />If he would wake the only strain <br />That never fully dies! <br /> <br />O what the strain that woos the knight <br />To turn from steed and lance, <br />The page to turn from hound and hawk, <br />The maid from lute and dance; <br />The potent strain, that nigh would draw <br />The hermit from his cave, <br />The dryad from the leafy oak, <br />The mermaid from the wave; <br />That almost might still charm the hawk <br />To drop the trembling dove? <br />O ruddy minstrel, tune thy harp, <br />And sing of Youthful Love!<br /><br />Isabella Valancy Crawford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-perfect-strain/
