Though cribbed and gyved, thou canst within thy
Unfold a wondrous wealth of worlds unseen,
And flood the soul’s abyss with moon-light sheen,
As well as darken passions’ gilded halls ;
Thy fourteen outlets are so many falls
From which gush out the prisoned joy, or
The silvery cascades, or the billows green,
And either a sea of bliss or grief recalls.
Thou goddess of the gems of Fancy’s deep,
Though few thy facets, they reflect the whole
Of inner-self in multi-shaded hues ;
Thou art the couch of dreams that never sleep ;
Thou art the phoenix of the poet’s soul,
As well the crystal palace of his muse.
Ever to Be
My far cry, though no one should echo,—
Though no one to listen should stand,
I shall dare with my burden the darkness
And I shall not retreat from this land;
Though I’m hurled ’neath the feet of the millions,
Who struggle their places to keep,
The sea-nymphs still bathe with my fancy
And the Dryads still sweeten my sleep.
Though I’m crushed, cast away and forgotten,—
Though I’m buried in the dust of their cars,
I can see through their madness above me,—
I can feel the quick pulse of the stars;
Though my head be the foot-stool of tyrants,
Though my back be a step to their throne,
I still dwell with the kings of Orion
And I walk with the sun-queen alone.
Though the fire of my youth should consume me,—
Though my body a brimstone should be,
I can draw on the clouds for their water,
And behold! I’ve of water a sea;
And though roofless, and friendless, and hopeless
And loveless, and godless I stand,
The waves of my Life shall continue
To murmur and laugh on the Strand .