Could I but mention but thy Name;

Could I but strike — a sweeter note

Than all from virgin choirs that float,

Or harps with cords of gold;

A note more soft and more sublime

Than she, the sweetest of the Nine,

Euterpe's strains unfold!

The note which even now I hear

( For angels breathe it in my ear )

But never dared to raise —

Could I but mention but thy name,

To whom I owe this sacred flame

And love's inspired lays!

Ah! then, methinks, when I should hear

My Muse employ that word so dear;

When thoughts of thee inspire;

In sweeter strains my song should swell

Than e'er from harp of Orpheus fell

Or Phoebus’ full-stringed lyre!