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A VISION OF POETS.
More yet that speaker would have said,—
Poising between his smiles fair-fed,
Each separate phrase till finished;
Poising between his smiles fair-fed,
Each separate phrase till finished;
But all the foreheads of those born
And dead true poets flashed with scorn
Betwixt the bay leaves round them worn—
And dead true poets flashed with scorn
Betwixt the bay leaves round them worn—
Ay, jetted such brave fire, that they,
The new-come, shrank and paled away,
Like leaden ashes when the day
The new-come, shrank and paled away,
Like leaden ashes when the day
Strikes on the hearth! A spirit-blast,
A presence known by power, at last
Took them up mutely—they had passed!
A presence known by power, at last
Took them up mutely—they had passed!
And he, our pilgrim-poet, saw
Only their places, in deep awe,—
What time the angel's smile did draw
Only their places, in deep awe,—
What time the angel's smile did draw
His gazing upward. Smiling on,
The angel in the angel shone,
Revealing glory in benison.
The angel in the angel shone,
Revealing glory in benison.
Till, ripened in the light which shut
The poet in, his spirit mute
Dropped sudden, as a perfect fruit.
The poet in, his spirit mute
Dropped sudden, as a perfect fruit.
He fell before the angel's feet,
Saying—"If what is true is sweet,
In something I may compass it.
Saying—"If what is true is sweet,
In something I may compass it.
"For, where my worthiness is poor,
My will stands richly at the door,
To pay short comings evermore.
My will stands richly at the door,
To pay short comings evermore.
"Accept me therefore—Not for price,
And not for pride, my sacrifice
Is tendered! for my soul is nice,
And not for pride, my sacrifice
Is tendered! for my soul is nice,
"And will beat down those dusty seeds
Of bearded corn, if she succeeds
In soaring while the covey feeds.
Of bearded corn, if she succeeds
In soaring while the covey feeds.
