The Poet's Delay

IN vain I see the morning rise,

            In vain observe the western blaze,

            Who idly look to other skies,

            Expecting life by other ways.

            Amidst such boundless wealth without,

            I only still am poor within,

            The birds have sung their summer out,

            But still my spring does not begin.

            Shall I then wait the autumn wind,

            Compelled to seek a milder day,

            And leave no curious nest behind,

            No woods still echoing to my lay?