THE POET.

HE will come again as oft of old among you,

With his burden to fulfil;—

Did ye hearken ever to the songs they sung you

Till the song was still?

HE will bear again the scorn, the idle wonder,

And heart-hunger and love’ s need;

You will drown the sound of music in your thunder,

And he will not heed.

Singing unperplexed above the mocking laughter

Till his day be overpast;

Till the music dies, and silence follows after

And ye turn at last,—

Then when all the echoes breathe it and ye know it,

Ye will seek him to revere;

Cry aloud, and call him, master, lover, poet!

And he will not hear.