TO SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON.
41
Before thee, its deep pride, its strength, its life,
All, all forgotten in its silent awe
Toward a bright being of the earth so high,
And glorious, and grand.
All, all forgotten in its silent awe
Toward a bright being of the earth so high,
And glorious, and grand.
Oh I have thought
As o'er thy bright and burning page my heart
Wrapt in wild flame, has poured its mightiest love,
How like a demi-god thou art, thou proud
And sceptred monarch of the realm of mind!
The human soul, with all its mystic chords
Of joy and woe, and hope and holy love,
Is thine own instrument, from which thy hand
Awakens tones whose echoes will be heard
Through all the coming years, far sounding o'er
The ocean of the future ages.
As o'er thy bright and burning page my heart
Wrapt in wild flame, has poured its mightiest love,
How like a demi-god thou art, thou proud
And sceptred monarch of the realm of mind!
The human soul, with all its mystic chords
Of joy and woe, and hope and holy love,
Is thine own instrument, from which thy hand
Awakens tones whose echoes will be heard
Through all the coming years, far sounding o'er
The ocean of the future ages.
Thou
Art a magician of strange power; thou canst
Draw healing sweets from poisons; thou canst make
The darkest, deadliest passions wear the hues
Art a magician of strange power; thou canst
Draw healing sweets from poisons; thou canst make
The darkest, deadliest passions wear the hues
