THE POET.[C]

Listen! the mother Croons o’er her darling; Birds to the summer Call from the trees; Sailors in chorus Chant of the ocean: The poet’s heart singeth Songs sweeter than these. Thy lute, gentle lover, To her thou adorest; Ye troubadours! pæans For princes of Guelph: But Heaven’s own harpers Breathe not in their music The song that his happy heart Sings to itself; The changeless, soft song that it Sings to itself!