l'envoi.
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The poet's rare and wondrous gifts
In thee await their triumph-hour,—
There sleep within thy dreamy eyes
The mighty secrets of his power.
In thee await their triumph-hour,—
There sleep within thy dreamy eyes
The mighty secrets of his power.
Thy heart with one high throb can rise
His fair, heroic dreams above,—
There breathes more passion in thy voice
Than in a thousand lays of love.
His fair, heroic dreams above,—
There breathes more passion in thy voice
Than in a thousand lays of love.
Ah, know'st thou not the while thou deem'st
The poet's mission most divine,
Life's grand, unwritten poetry
Goes out from natures such as thine?
The poet's mission most divine,
Life's grand, unwritten poetry
Goes out from natures such as thine?
What though it falleth brokenly
And faintly on the world's dull ear,—
Though clamorous voices cry it down,
To God it rises, pure and clear!
And faintly on the world's dull ear,—
Though clamorous voices cry it down,
To God it rises, pure and clear!
It Cometh as a service glad,—
A music all as full and sweet
As though the stars hymned forth their joy,
And rolled their anthems to His feet.
A music all as full and sweet
As though the stars hymned forth their joy,
And rolled their anthems to His feet.
