Most delicately hour by hour With lips depress'd as he were meek, And other than his form of creed, With chisell❜d features clear and sleek. THE POET. THE poet in a golden clime was born, With golden stars above; Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love. He saw thro' life and death, thro' good and ill, He saw thro' his own soul. The marvel of the everlasting will, Before him lay with echoing feet he threaded The viewless arrows of his thoughts were headed Like Indian reeds blown from his silver tongue, And of so fierce a flight, From Calpe unto Caucasus they sung, Filling with light And vagrant melodies the winds which bore Then, like the arrow-seeds of the field flower, Cleaving, took root, and springing forth anew Like to the mother plant in semblance, grew And bravely furnish'd all abroad to fling The winged shafts of truth, To throng with stately blooms the breathing spring Of Hope and Youth. So many minds did gird their orbs with beams, Heaven flow'd upon the soul in many dreams Thus truth was multiplied on trutn, the world And thro' the wreaths of floating dark upcurl'd, And Freedom rear'd in that august sunrise When rites and forms before his burning eyes There was no blood upon her maiden robes Sunn'd by those orient skies; But round about the circles of the globes And in her raiment's hem was traced in flame All evil dreams of power-a sacred name. Her words did gather thunder as they ran, So was their meaning to her words. No sword Of wrath her right arm whirl'd, But one poor poet's scroll, and with his word She shook the world. THE POET'S MIND. 1. VEX not thou the poet's mind Vex not thou the poet's mind; For thou canst not fathom it. Clear and bright it should be ever, Flowing like a crystal river; Bright as light, and clear as wind. 2. Dark-brow'd sophist, come not anear; Holy water will I pour Into every spicy flower Of the laurel-shrubs that hedge it around. The flowers would faint at your cruel cheer. In your eye there is death, There is frost in your breath |