Poems (Commelin)/Nathaniel Hawthorne
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.
Oh, rare, fine spirit, from the silent land,No message cometh, e'en from such as thou,Who bore on earth a potent, magic wand,Wielded with delicate and fairy hand.Yet art thou ever with us still, I trow,In minds spell-bound by thy creations now,Who sprang to being by thy soul's command.We call thee dead, but we who live can findNo way to send a token slight to thee,Whilst thou, with insight keen and matchless power,Charmeth, through all life's round, the weary mind.'Tis thou who livest! still thy witcheryFalleth on us with precious, golden dower.