A LAY OF THE EARLY ROSE.
267
"Oh, shame to poet's lays
Sting for the dole of praise,—
Hoarsely sung upon the highway
With that obolum da mihi.
Sting for the dole of praise,—
Hoarsely sung upon the highway
With that obolum da mihi.
"Shame, shame to poet's soul,
Pining for such a dole,
When Heaven-chosen to inherit
The high throne of a chief spirit!
Pining for such a dole,
When Heaven-chosen to inherit
The high throne of a chief spirit!
"Sit still upon your thrones,
O ye poetic ones!
And if, sooth, the world decry you,
Let it pass, unchallenged by you!
O ye poetic ones!
And if, sooth, the world decry you,
Let it pass, unchallenged by you!
"Ye to yourselves suffice,
Without its flatteries.
Self-contentedly approve you,
Unto Him who sits above you,—
Without its flatteries.
Self-contentedly approve you,
Unto Him who sits above you,—
"In prayers—that upward mount
Like to a fair-sunned fount
Which, in gushing back upon you,
Hath an upper music won you,—
Like to a fair-sunned fount
Which, in gushing back upon you,
Hath an upper music won you,—
"In faith—that still perceives
No rose can shed her leaves,
Far less, poet fall from mission—
With an unfulfilled fruition!
No rose can shed her leaves,
Far less, poet fall from mission—
With an unfulfilled fruition!
"In hope—that apprehends
An end beyond these ends;
And great uses rendered duly
By the meanest song sung truly!
An end beyond these ends;
And great uses rendered duly
By the meanest song sung truly!
"In thanks—for all the good,
By poets understood—
For the sound of seraphs moving
Down the hidden depths of loving,—
By poets understood—
For the sound of seraphs moving
Down the hidden depths of loving,—
