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147
TO THE POET.
Aye, doubt, and hope, and dream!
(Thou canst not choose)—and question the Divine!
Thus—since of earth—did They, whose holier gleam
Was clouded erst, as thine.
(Thou canst not choose)—and question the Divine!
Thus—since of earth—did They, whose holier gleam
Was clouded erst, as thine.
Souls that, like Setting Suns,
Have left their radiance flung on sea and shore—
The Wise, the Pure, the Everlasting Ones,
They who have gone before.
Have left their radiance flung on sea and shore—
The Wise, the Pure, the Everlasting Ones,
They who have gone before.
But muse no more in rhyme!
Lest, haply, fond imaginings and hopes,
In their inception truthful or sublime,
Perish in wordy tropes.
Lest, haply, fond imaginings and hopes,
In their inception truthful or sublime,
Perish in wordy tropes.
In quiet mark them roll,
The grand, still shadows of eternity—
And mighty Thoughts, that move along the soul
Like clouds upon the sea.
The grand, still shadows of eternity—
And mighty Thoughts, that move along the soul
Like clouds upon the sea.
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