THE POET'S PHILOSOPHY. [WE] look on that which cannot change the One, Against the escape of boldest thoughts, repels them Of suns, and worlds, and men, and beasts, and flowers, With all the silent or tempestuous workings By which they have been, are, or cease to be, Is but a vision; all that it inherits Are motes of a sick eye, bubbles and dreams; Hellas. THE POET'S WORLD. ON a poet's lips I slept Dreaming like a love-adept In the sound his breathing kept ; Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses, But feeds on the aërial kisses Of shapes that haunt thought's wildernesses. He will watch from dawn to gloom The lake-reflected sun illume The yellow bees in the ivy bloom, Nor heed nor see what things they be; But from these create he can Forms more real than living man, Nurslings of immortality! Prometheus Unbound. |