 | My Sonnets |  |
3
[The Poet, in what differs he from all]
The Poet, in what differs he from allHis fellow rulers of the subject earth?
In this,—that, even from his very birth,
The thousand voices that, in music, call
To man from nature, on his ear will fall,
Each time but waking in him wilder mirth,
Or deeper sadness, than before. Their worth
Things common hold with him: use may not wall
The least of them from out his wondering love
And wordless admiration. He will gaze
Upon the heavens, in glory spread above,
Upon the teeming earth, with such amaze,
With such deep, soul-felt, awe, as if before
His eyes their beauty never wandered o'er.
June 16th, 1843.
| My Sonnets | |