My fairest child, I have no song to give you; 
No lark could pipe in skies so dull and gray; 
Yet, if you will, one quiet hint I'll leave you, 
For every day. 

I'll tell you how to sing a clearer carol 
Than lark who hails the dawn or breezy down; 
To earn yourself a purer poet's laurel 
Than Shakespeare's crown. 

Be good, sweet maid, and let who can be clever; 
Do lovely things, not dream them, all day long; 
And so make Life, and Death, and that For Ever, 
One grand sweet song.