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Like Indian reeds blown from his silver tongue,
And of so fierce a flight,
Filling with light
And vagrant melodies the winds which bore
Them earthward till they lit ;
The fruitful wit
Cleaving, took root, and springing forth anew
Where'er they fell, behold,
A flower all gold,
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 Of high desire.
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
Sunn'd by those orient skies ;
Of her keen eyes
And in her raiment's hem was traced in flame
WISDOM, a name to shake
And when she spake,
Her words did gather thunder as they ran,
And as the lightning to the thunder Which follows it, riving the spirit of man,
Making earth wonder,
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
She shook the world.
THE POET'S MIND.
Vex not thou the poet's mind
With thy shallow wit:
For thou can’st not fathom it.
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
In your eye there is death,
breath Which would blight the plants. Where
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,
From the brain of the purple mountain
Which stands in the distance yonder : It springs on a level of bowery lawn, And the mountain draws it from Heaven above, And it sings a song of undying love ;