Like Indian reeds blown from his silver tongue, And of so fierce a flight, From Calpe unto Caucasus they sung, Filling with light And vagrant melodies the winds which bore Then, like the arrow-seeds of the field flower, The fruitful wit Cleaving, took root, and springing forth anew Where'er they fell, behold, Like to the mother plant in semblance, grew And bravely furnish'd all abroad to fling The winged shafts of truth, To throng with stately bloomst he breathing spring Of Hope and Youth. So many minds did gird their orbs with beams, Though one did fling the fire. Heaven flow'd upon the soul in many dreams Thus truth was multiplied on truth, the world Like one great garden show'd, And thro' the wreaths of floating dark upcurl'd, Rare sunrise flow'd. And Freedom rear'd in that august sunrise Her beautiful bold brow, When rites and forms before his burning eyes Melted like snow. There was no blood upon her maiden robes But round about the circles of the globes Of her keen eyes And in her raiment's hem was traced in flame WISDOM, a name to shake All evil dreams of power-a sacred name. Her words did gather thunder as they ran, So was their meaning to her words. No sword Of wrath her right arm whirl'd, But one poor poet's scroll, and with his word THE POET'S MIND. 1. VEX not thou the poet's mind With thy shallow wit: Vex not thou the poet's mind; For thou can'st not fathom it. Clear and bright it should be ever, Flowing like a crystal river; Bright as light, and clear as wind. II. Dark-brow'd sophist, come not anear; All the place is holy ground; Hollow smile and frozen sneer Come not here. Holy water will I pour Into every spicy flower Of the laurel-shrubs that hedge it around. In your eye there is death, There is frost in your breath Which would blight the plants. Where you stand you cannot hear From the groves within The wild-bird's din. In the heart of the garden the merry bird chants, It would fall to the ground if you came in. In the middle leaps a fountain Like sheet lightning, Ever brightening With a low melodious thunder; All day and all night it is ever drawn From the brain of the purple mountain It springs on a level of bowery lawn, And the mountain draws it from Heaven above, And it sings a song of undying love; |