A body of beauty is mine. O poet, moulder of me, Withhold not the breath divine, The soul of truth that makes free. Fair form in repose for a day (The body of beauty of me) With the pulse-beats of life all away, Is well, for beauty and thee. Yet give to me life all aglow,— Not a demon of darkness to blight, But a love-lit soul pure as snow,— Beckon me an angel of light. A body of beauty is mine. O poet, moulder of me, Inbreathe with breathings divine, Or body alone let it be.