 | Poems |  |
SONNET I. TO POESY.
Wonderful Spirit, whose eternal shrineIs in great Poets' souls, whose voice doth send
High truths and dreams prophetic without end
Into the blind world from those founts divine,—
Deep adoration from such souls is thine;
But I have loved thee, Spirit, as a friend;
Woo'd thee, in pensive leisure, but to lend
Thy sweetness to this wayward heart of mine,
And charm my lone thoughts into joyousness.
And I have found that thou canst lay aside
Thy terrors, and thy glory, and thy pride;
Quit thy proud temples for a calm recess
In lowly hearts, and dream sweet hours away,
Winning from sterner thought a frequent holiday.
| Poems | |