Pebbles and Shells (Hawkes collection)/The Poet's Joy
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.