 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
IMAGINATION.
A headstrong steed art thou, ill-trained, to ride,Imagination! Well he needs to use
Both bit and spur, for thy hot blood doth chuse
Strange paths, in spleen of speed and flush of pride.
One might almost as lief the wind bestride,
As thee, thou wingèd Pegasus, when loose;
That know'st not time nor space, nor dost refuse
To go to Heaven or Hell, whate'er betide.
Yet what were Man without thee! Light, wind, wing,
Fire, flame, are poor comparatives for thee.
Thou dost into the lap of Pleasure fling
Unknown delights, and touchest those we see
And feel to finer issues. Thou dost bring
The dead to life, and mak'st Man spirit-free!
| Stones from The Quarry | |