 | Life and Literary Remains of L. E. L. |  |
294
GENIUS.
Alas! and must this be the fateThat all too often will await
The gifted hand, which shall awake
The poet's lute? and, for its sake,
All but its own sweet self resign,
Thou loved lute, to be only thine!
For what is genius, but deep feeling,
Wakening to glorious revealing?
And what is feeling, but to be
Alive to every misery?
| Life and Literary Remains of L. E. L. | |