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PAUPER POET’S SONG.
- SUN, moon, and stars, the ample air,
- The birds shrill whistling everywhere,
- Fields white with lambs and daisies;
- The pearls of eve, the jewelled morn,
- The rose rich blowing on the thorn,
- The glow of blush‐rose faces;
- The silver glint of sun‐smit rain,
- The shattered sun‐gold of the main,
- And heaven’s sweet breath that moves it;
- The earth, our myriad‐bosomed nurse,
- This whole miraculous universe
- Belongs to him who loves it!
- Why fret then for the gold of this,
- The fame of that man, or the bliss,
- Or such another’s graces?
- Oh heart that chim’st with golden verse,
- My heart, thou art the magic purse
- Which all dull trouble chases;
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- Thine too fruition of all fame
- When the live soul, as flame with flame,
- Weds the dead soul that moves it;
- Then sing for aye, and aye rehearse,
- This whole miraculous universe
- Belongs to him who loves it!
