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From the wreck of Hopes far-scattered,
Floating waste and desolate;—
Ever drifting, drifting, drifting
Currents of the restless heart;
Till at length in books recorded,
They, like hoarded
Household words, no more depart.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882]
TO THE MUSES
WHETHER on Ida's shady brow,
Or the green corners of the earth,
Where the melodious winds have birth;
Whether on crystal rocks ye rove,
How have you left the ancient love
The languid strings do scarcely move,
The sound is forced, the notes are few.
William Blake [1757-1827)
"WHITHER IS GONE THE WISDOM AND THE POWER"
WHITHER is gone the wisdom and the power
cell and every blooming bower
our spirits with their roundelays.
Hartley Coleridge [1796-1849]
›ld the Muses sat on high,
nd heard and judged the songs of men; ›ne they smiled, who loitered by;
toiling ten, they slighted ten.
ey lightly serve who serve us best,
ut violence and toil we shun."
en say true, the Muses now
ach one with the other vies,
f those who weave romance or song:
yet methinks I hear the hest ome murmuring down from Helicon: ey lightly serve who serve us best, or know they how the task was done!" Edith M. Thomas [1854
(AFTER READING CERTAIN OF THE IRISH POETS)
THE Moods have laid their hands across my hair:
Of little verses, or a dancing child.
My heart turns crying from the rose and brook,
Now I shall blow like smitten candle-flame;
My pity and my joy are grown alike;
I cannot sweep the strangeness from heart.
The Moods have drawn swift fingers through my heart.
Fannie Stearns Davis [18
THE PASSIONATE READER TO HIS POET
DOTH it not thrill thee, Poet,
Dead and dust though thou art,
To feel how I press thy singing
Close to my heart?
he Flight of the Goddess
at night to my pillow,
ain when the delicate morning
I bathe thy pages
Here in the light of the sun;
h thy leaves, as a wind among roses, The breezes shall run.
w I take thy poem
And bury within it my face,
essed it last night in the heart of a flower, Or deep in a dearer place.
as I love thee, Poet,
ou not happy, Poet?
ilt thou change thy glory
Richard Le Gallienne [1866
IE FLIGHT OF THE GODDESS
y should live in a garret aloof,
, when I walked on a rugged way,
The narrow, mean attic, I see it now!—
Wretched enough was I sometimes,
Midnight filled my slumbers with song;
But the Delphian airs have died away.
I wonder and wonder how it befell:
I bade the house-tops a long farewell;
'Good-by," I cried, "to the stars and clouds!
"But thou, rare soul, thou hast dwelt with me, Spirit of Poesy! thou divine
Breath of the morning, thou shalt be,
And the woman I loved was now my bride,
Flown, and I fear she will never return;
I call-but she does not stoop to my cry;
I wait--but she lingers, and ah! so long!
It was not so in the years gone by,
When she touched my lips with chrism of song.