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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354921" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Who would not be a poet?” thus I read <br>In thy proud sonnet, my poetic friend; <br>And unto this my full assent was given: <br>“There is not, cannot be, under all heaven, <br>Aught happier in itself than the witch, poetry.” <br>But “Who’d not be a poet?” here I pause <br>Forebodingly, my poet-friend,—because <br>“To see all beauty with his gifted sight,” <br>To love, like him, with all the soul, <br>To be, when life is morning-bright <br>The very creature of delight,— <br> Delight beyond control,— <br>Is still to be, in like degree, <br> Too sensible of misery <br>And loss and slight, and all the weeping shapes of dole. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And this is truth too, that with saddened heart <br>Oft must he from his fellows live apart; <br>For how can men whose every breath of life <br>Is drawn in the hot air, and mid the strife <br>Of pettiest interest, have a kindred heart <br>With him who hath built heavenward and apart <br>The structures of his mind, and looking thence <br>Over this world-thronged universe immense, <br>Is wont all such embroilments to deplore <br>As light-obscuring vapours—nothing more? <br>What ladder of experience can they build, <br>To mount with—up, into a nature filled <br>With beauty, or by mighty truths inspired, <br>Or one even with a bold ambition fired? <br>But least of all in such men can there be <br>Devotions chiming into sympathy <br>With some pure soul, unsuccoured and alone, <br>Struggled in weariness unwearied on— <br>Unwearied, day and night, and night and day, <br>Towards the far Mecca of its faith always. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet thus the poet, armed only with the right, <br>To life’s dishonest battle oft must come, <br>To front instead of valour, mean despite, <br> With envy aye in emulation’s room, <br>Blotting heaven’s sacred light! <br>To see unblushing fortune’s minions doom <br>To obloguy, through some repute unholy, <br>Or to some vile and miserable estate, <br>All such as would not trample on the lowly, <br>And basely glorify the falsely great. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet if a thought like this <br>Should mar at times they tuneful bliss, <br>Stronger within thine earnest will <br>Be the spirit of sone, that still <br>Thou mayest sing of eloquent eyes <br>That are of sunny thoughts the every sunny skies; <br>Sweet dreams that swarm round honeyed lips, <br>Like honey-loving bees; <br>Glad birds, fresh flowers, clear streams, and trees <br>All starry bright with golden pips; <br>Or with a loud bold chime, <br>Sing of that braver time, <br>When world-wide justice from her Alpine chair <br>Shall read at length in the rich reddening skies <br>The gospel of her advent, and declare <br>The sacred sign of her epiphany there, <br>Amid the purple dyes; <br>While all true men, the bravely wise, <br>Shall seek her there with fearless feet and free <br>Where the prophet-peaks arise <br>Out of the shattering mist, the phantom sea <br>Of old iniquity! <br>Through dense and rare, shall seek her there, <br>Breathing with lion-lungs the clear keen mountain air <br>Of a supreme up-climbing, God-great liberty. <br>Then envy not the splendid wretchedness <br>Of Mammon’s dupes! Sing thy great rhymes <br>For those diviner spiritual times <br>Our country yet shall know, and, wisely knowing, bless. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Downward, through the blooming roofage <br> Of a lonely forest bower, <br> Come the yellow sunbeams,—falling <br> Like a burning shower: <br> So through heaven’s starry ceiling <br> To the hermit soul’s abode, <br> Comes the Holy Spirit,—earthward <br> Raying down from God. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charles+Harpur">Charles Harpur</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354921" data-title="To de Charles Harpur" data-description="“Who would not be a poet?” thus I read 
In thy proud sonnet, my poetic friend; 
And unto this my full assent was given: 
“There is not, cannot be, under all heaven, 
Aught happier in itself than the witch, poetry.” 
But “Who’d not be a..."></div>
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