Poet, it was your soul created her:
⁠Yours was the vision lovely and supreme,
⁠Yours the appealing, high-imagined theme,
That like a breath of attar-rose or myrrh,
Piercing the sense, made Art her worshiper—
⁠Made heavenly Music long to be, and seem,
⁠A part of the impassionating dream,
An added accent, beauty to confer.

And Music to that service, as desired,
Brought lofty harmonies—so love inspired—
⁠And melodies as pure as they are sweet;
Yet 't is the soul of Cio-Cio-San alone,
Untouched by any genius but your own,
⁠That makes the charm so lasting, so complete.