 | My Sonnets |  |
7
[The Poet, in what differs he from those]
The Poet, in what differs he from thoseWho share with him the feelings of his kind?
In this,—In him doth nature ever find
A heart that, while it throbs with life, o'erflows
With love, deep, ever-springing, love. He knows
No joy so sweet as that which is entwined
In that of others, for his feelings wind
About their own so closely, that their woes
Become to him more moving than his own.
To him the voice of ringing laughter's sweet:
He hears the sigh to echo it alone.
Thus lives he in all life. No thing can meet
His eye too lowly for his smiles or tears.
Through him the listening world the heart of nature hears.
September 24th, 1843.
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