 | Songs of A Wayfarer |  |
172
CXCI. THE POET'S AMBITION.
The silvery sound of summer-breathing windThat sings its faint division through the trees;
The slow, white cloud that sails before the breeze;
A heaven whose worst inclemencies are kind;
A plain simplicity that doth unbind
The soul of liberty in temperate ease:
Be these my wealth, my dear companions these,
With sweet society of those who find
New power in ancient forces, and discern
The wider meaning; whose high thoughts transcend
All visible things; ennobled souls that yearn
To leave the sensuous coil and apprehend
Fresh motions in the sun and moon and learn
To point with loftier aim Life's proper end.
| Songs of A Wayfarer | |