To J. R. Barrick.
OH poet, to my ]one and swelling heart
How gently comes the message sent by thine;
It speaks to me of all I know thou art,
For thy high soul glows in each burning line.
I ne'er have met thee on the earth, but thou
Hast wakened visions that will long remain,
Shedding their holy brightness on my brow,
And haunting with their glory heart and brain.
How gently comes the message sent by thine;
It speaks to me of all I know thou art,
For thy high soul glows in each burning line.
I ne'er have met thee on the earth, but thou
Hast wakened visions that will long remain,
Shedding their holy brightness on my brow,
And haunting with their glory heart and brain.
Yes, poet, to my soul, as to thine own,
The world is bright, and if dark grief awhile
Clouds the high visions of my spirit lone,
I find no gloom in Nature's blessed smile.
The world is bright, and if dark grief awhile
Clouds the high visions of my spirit lone,
I find no gloom in Nature's blessed smile.
