THE POET'S JOY
A grain of gold without alloy,
A perfect thing from life's poor alchemy,
Dearer than wealth or fame or power to me
I hold this sweet delight, the poet's joy.
When I can rise above all low annoy
In matchless flight upon the wings of song
And sing a strain so deep, so pure so strong
That all earth's sordid strife cannot destroy
The waking dream, or kill the living thought.
When I can feel in truth that I have wrought
Into the lives and deeds of men to be
A noble thought, that they may know my power
When I am gone; my joy in that brief hour
Is more than years of baser ecstacy.
A perfect thing from life's poor alchemy,
Dearer than wealth or fame or power to me
I hold this sweet delight, the poet's joy.
When I can rise above all low annoy
In matchless flight upon the wings of song
And sing a strain so deep, so pure so strong
That all earth's sordid strife cannot destroy
The waking dream, or kill the living thought.
When I can feel in truth that I have wrought
Into the lives and deeds of men to be
A noble thought, that they may know my power
When I am gone; my joy in that brief hour
Is more than years of baser ecstacy.
AMPLIUS
Sweet banished years of joy and youth,
Of twenty-five this is the last;
I cannot weave its fragile woof,
That day is done, that die is cast.
Of twenty-five this is the last;
I cannot weave its fragile woof,
That day is done, that die is cast.
I cannot summon childhood days
And blend them with thy coming years,
Or place its coronet of flowers
Upon a brow that smiles through tears.
And blend them with thy coming years,
Or place its coronet of flowers
Upon a brow that smiles through tears.
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