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A VISION OF POETS.
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But she, the lady, as vapour-bound,
Stood calmly in the joy of sound,—
Like Nature with the showers around.

And when it ceased, the blood which fell,
Again, alone grew audible,
Tolling the silence as a bell.

The sovran angel lifted high
His hand, and spake out sovranly—
"Tried poets, hearken and reply!

"Give me true answers. If we grant
That not to suffer, is to want
The conscience of the Jubilant,—

"If ignorance of anguish is
But ignorance; and mortals miss
Far prospects, by a level bliss,—

"If as two colours must be viewed
In a seen image, mortals should
Need good and evil, to see good,—

"If to speak nobly, comprehends
To feel profoundly—if the ends
Of power and suffering, Nature blends,—

"If poets on the tripod must
Writhe like the Pythian, to make just
Their oracles, and merit trust,—

"If every vatic word that sweeps
To change the world, must pale their lips,
And leave their own souls in eclipse—

"If to search deep the universe
Must pierce the searcher with the curse,—
Because that bolt (in man's reverse),

"Was shot to the heart o' the wood, and lies
Wedged deepest in the best!—if eyes
That look for visions and surprise