Dew of Parnassus

How shall we know when he comes for whom are these garlands of bay ?
How single him forth from the many that pass and repass on their way ?

Easily may ye discern him, and beckon him forth from the throng;
Ye surely shall know him by this, — he hath slept on the Mountain of Song.

Many are they that go thither, many the guests of the day;
Few till the cool of the eve, till the kindling of Hesperus, stay.

But he, all night on the sward, lay couched by a murmuring spring;
Sleeping he lay, yet he heard from the covert the nightingale sing, —

Heard the faint rustle of leaves astir in the breath of the South,
Felt the soft lips of the dryad laid on his eyelids and mouth :

So slept till the stars were all folded ; till, bright on the dim mountain lawn,
The Muses came singing to wake him, pouring the wine of the dawn !

For him are these garlands of bay ; yet show us more clearly the sign :
How shall we know, beyond doubt, he hath slept on the mountain divine?

Know by the dew on his raiment, his forehead and clustering hair;
Dew of the night on Parnassus he for a token shall wear.

Look, how the diamond is caught in the fringe of the meadow unshorn !
Look, how the rose has its rubies, the lily its pearls from the morn !

Such is the song of the poet, — a blossom bred up in the dew ;
Mobile the drop at its heart, creating all beauty anew!