By waters born of Helicon,
the glories ever flowing,
the loves dance through the laurel groves
in vernal verdure glowing,
upon each head a victor's crown
of living laughter growing.
By breath of breeze each little leaf,
each bough, is softly sighing;
the garlands thrown by leaping hours
with flowered grounds are vying,
and, midst it all, the Muses sing
in harmonies undying.
The poets flute with words of gold;
the graces make them bold.
The fountains spring with soaring thought
and visions crisp and cold.