Page:The nature and elements of poetry, Stedman, 1892.djvu/103

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infancy from some "imperial palace whence he came." To the true poet, then, we say, like the bard to Israfel:—

"The ecstasies above
With thy burning measures suit—
Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love,
With the fervor of thy lute—
Well may the stars be mute."