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83
The Poet
He draws from the heart of the Human tears that he makes his own,
He draws from the spirit of Nature sounds of a mystic tone,
His mirth (though it draw quick smiles) has the theme of some deeper moan.
He draws from the spirit of Nature sounds of a mystic tone,
His mirth (though it draw quick smiles) has the theme of some deeper moan.
E'en when his mouth is mutest, within there is sound on sound,
For shafts of light come slanting from the hoary mountains round
To his heart's embowered vale, by a stream of tears enwound.
For shafts of light come slanting from the hoary mountains round
To his heart's embowered vale, by a stream of tears enwound.
Ah! could you see him greet it, with eyes undazed and proud!
Light from the hoary mountains, where winds are ever loud!
Light that would scathe another,—one of the darkling crowd!
Light from the hoary mountains, where winds are ever loud!
Light that would scathe another,—one of the darkling crowd!
84
Though, when he breaks the silence, vainly his voice may float,
His is the blackbird's warble, his is the throstle's throat,
Spring after spring repeating an exquisite, idle note.
His is the blackbird's warble, his is the throstle's throat,
Spring after spring repeating an exquisite, idle note.
Idle song of the poet! Message from seas and skies!
Stronger than wind it pierces, swifter than light it flies!
Gladdens the world, unheeded, as sunshine gladdens the eyes!
Stronger than wind it pierces, swifter than light it flies!
Gladdens the world, unheeded, as sunshine gladdens the eyes!
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