Like Indian reeds blown from his silver tongue, And of so fierce a flight, From Calpe unto Caucasus they sung, And vagrant melodies the winds which bore Then, like the arrow-seeds of the field-flower, Cleaving, took root, and springing forth anew Like to the mother plant in semblance, grew And bravely furnished all abroad to fling The winged shafts of truth, To throng with stately blooms the breathing spring Of Hope and Youth. So many minds did gird their orbs with beams, Heaven flowed upon the soul in many dreams Thus truth was multiplied on truth, the world Like one great garden showed, And through the wreaths of floating dark upcurled, Rare sunrise flowed. And Freedom reared in that august sunrise Her beautiful bold brow, When rites and forms before his burning eyes There was no blood upon her maiden robes But round about the circles of the globes And in her raiment's hem was traced in flame WISDOM, a name to shake All evil dreams of power And when she spake, a sacred name. Her words did gather thunder as they ran, Making earth wonder, So was their meaning to her words. No sword Of wrath her right arm whirled, But one poor poet's scroll, and with his word She shook the world. THE POET'S MIND. I. VEX not thou the poet's mind For thou can'st not fathom it Bright as light, and clear as wind. II. Dark-browed 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. 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 chaunts, 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 And yet, though its voice be so clear and full, |