Fountain of noble Truth and deathless Fame,
Dwelling with Pain and yet with holy Joy,
Filling the souls of men with sacred flame,
Purging the heart of every base alloy —
Thus find we Love, though bound in bosom strong
Or locked in sweet jail of some lady’s breast —
A magic power, that truly doth belong
To high and low, and in like garment dressed.
First heaven-born, thence poured in human kinds;
Of ancient date, and yet old Time above;
Immortal fruits of many-sided minds
Might mould the age; but what may conquer Love?
Great power, that burden of true pleasure brings,
Thou makest all men equal, clowns and kings!
William Blocksidge, Songs o’ the South, London: Watts, 1908, p. 54
doth = (archaic) does
makest = (archaic) make
thou = (archaic) you