 | Passion-Flowers |  |
146
THE JOY OF POESY.
Voices of care and pleasure, cease!
Harp! thou and I have room at length;
Incline thy sweetness to my skill,
And give back melody for strength.
Harp! thou and I have room at length;
Incline thy sweetness to my skill,
And give back melody for strength.
Oh! not amiss the Master Bard
Is pictured to the vulgar mind
Possessed of inner sight alone;
The poet at his song is blind.
Is pictured to the vulgar mind
Possessed of inner sight alone;
The poet at his song is blind.
He sees nor circumstance, nor friend;
His listeners press not in on him;
Cloud-rapt in possibility,
His thoughts and ways are far and dim.
His listeners press not in on him;
Cloud-rapt in possibility,
His thoughts and ways are far and dim.
147
Led by the wonder of his theme,
He writes his word in doubt and shade;
Its glory scarcely shows to him—
Do stars look bright to God that made?
He writes his word in doubt and shade;
Its glory scarcely shows to him—
Do stars look bright to God that made?
He leaves, and follows on for more,
By wingèd steed or Stygian boat;
Men see the letters all in light,
And bless the unconscious hand that wrote.
By wingèd steed or Stygian boat;
Men see the letters all in light,
And bless the unconscious hand that wrote.
For sure among all arts is none
So far transcending sense as this,
That follows its own painful way,
And cannot rest in bane or bliss;
So far transcending sense as this,
That follows its own painful way,
And cannot rest in bane or bliss;
That moulds to more than face or form,
That paints to more than Nature's hue,
And from th' intense of passion brings
The deeply, passionlessly true;
That paints to more than Nature's hue,
And from th' intense of passion brings
The deeply, passionlessly true;
That, in unlettered ages, read
The thoughts that in God's heavens are;
Divined the Orient speech of Day,
And told the tale of star to star.
The thoughts that in God's heavens are;
Divined the Orient speech of Day,
And told the tale of star to star.
148
Oh! tremblingly I sit to sing,
And take the lyre upon my knee;
Like child divine to mortal maid,
My gift is full of awe to me.
And take the lyre upon my knee;
Like child divine to mortal maid,
My gift is full of awe to me.
To sing for praise, to sing for gold,
Or ev'n for mere delight of singing,
Were as if empty joy of smell
Should prompt the censer's fragrant swinging.
Or ev'n for mere delight of singing,
Were as if empty joy of smell
Should prompt the censer's fragrant swinging.
Dear Soul of bliss, and bliss of song,
Be thou and song insphered with me;
Thus may I hold the sacred gift,
Possessing, but possest in thee.
Be thou and song insphered with me;
Thus may I hold the sacred gift,
Possessing, but possest in thee.
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