 | Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne |  |
I.
TO HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
I think earth's noblest, most pathetic sightIs some old poet, round whose laurel-crown
The long gray locks are streaming softly down;—
Whose evening, touched by prescient shades of night,
Grows tranquillized, in calm, ethereal light:—
Such, such art thou, O master! worthier grown
In the fair sunset of thy full renown,—
Poising, perchance, thy spiritual wings for flight!
Ah, heaven! why shouldst thou from thy place depart?
God's court is thronged with minstrels rich with song:
Even now, a new notes wells the immaculate choir,—
But thou, whose strains have filled our lives so long,
Still from the altar of thy reverent heart
Let golden dreams ascend, and thoughts of fire!
| Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne | |