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5
THE LYRIC I.
Have pity on the lyric I,
The poet's eye that finely rolls,
And holds convertible domain
From burning Cancer to the poles.
The poet's eye that finely rolls,
And holds convertible domain
From burning Cancer to the poles.
Not of itself th' incendiant spark
That sets men's thoughts to smoke and blaze;
It is a spirit fire-glass,
That kindles with concentred rays.
That sets men's thoughts to smoke and blaze;
It is a spirit fire-glass,
That kindles with concentred rays.
It hath a weary work to do,
Fifth of all sounds that sing or sigh,
Third of the great things I O U,
It speeds, the monographic I.
Fifth of all sounds that sing or sigh,
Third of the great things I O U,
It speeds, the monographic I.
Its pain and evil I have seen
Where heart and manhood withering lie,
And said: “Good friend, you cannot heal,
Till you consent to lose this I.”
Where heart and manhood withering lie,
And said: “Good friend, you cannot heal,
Till you consent to lose this I.”
Empiric if our notions be,
Or with Hegelian learning wise,
Or set on simplest common sense,
There is a difference in our I—s.
Or with Hegelian learning wise,
Or set on simplest common sense,
There is a difference in our I—s.
6
The philosophic I, is not
The I that any man may meet
On errands of familiar use,
Or held to greetings in the street.
The I that any man may meet
On errands of familiar use,
Or held to greetings in the street.
The I that cannot choose but stand
Great rights and wrongings to assert,
Is not the I that wastes the meal,
And leaves hiatus in the shirt.
Great rights and wrongings to assert,
Is not the I that wastes the meal,
And leaves hiatus in the shirt.
Nor must the sorrows of my song
Stand for the household weights I bear,
Who thankful every morn return
To tasks beloved of thought and prayer.
Stand for the household weights I bear,
Who thankful every morn return
To tasks beloved of thought and prayer.
Nor such as share my working sphere,
Plagued with my music to the soul,
For Giant foes that shut the world
With false and tyrannous control.
Plagued with my music to the soul,
For Giant foes that shut the world
With false and tyrannous control.
Eyes may be sad at prison bars
To whom the sun is glad and free;
And placid depths of Being show
The storm-clouds of Humanity.
To whom the sun is glad and free;
And placid depths of Being show
The storm-clouds of Humanity.
And as one emblematic cup
From lip to lip doth fervent move,
So make my poet vase a boon
For all who weep, and think, and love.
From lip to lip doth fervent move,
So make my poet vase a boon
For all who weep, and think, and love.
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