The Poet.

Thow who wouldst wear the name

And clothe, in words

Of Poet midst thy brethren of mankind,
rds of flame,
Thoughts that shall live within the general mund
Deem not the framing of a deathless lay
The pastime of a drowsy Cummer-day.


But garber- all thy Powers,

And wreak them on the verse that thou dost weave,
And, in thy londy hours,

At Kilent morning or at wakeful eve,
While the tram current tingles throughthy veins,
Set forth the burning wordd in flucess-strand.

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No smooth array of phrase,
Artfully sought and ordered though it be,
Which the cold chymer laye
Upon the page wrste languid industry,
Can cake the listless pulse to livelier speed,
Or fill, with seedden teore, the eyes that read/


The secret wouldst thou know

To touch the heart or five the blood at will/
Let thine eyes verflows
Let thy leps quiver with the passionate thrill;
Leize the great thought ere yet it's power be past,
And bind, in words, the fleet emotion fact


Then, should thy verse appear Halting

and harsh and all snaptly wrought, Fouch the crude line with fear, Save in the moment of impassioned thoughts Then summon back the orginal glow and mund The Atraiw with Expture that with fire was penned o


Yet let no empty gust
Of passion find an utterance in thy lay:

A blast that whirls the dust

Along the howling Street and died away;
But feelings of calm power and mighty Sweep,
Like carronts journaying through the windless deep.

Sick'st thou in living layd
To limn the beauty of the earth and sky?
Refore thine inner gaze
Let all that beauty in clear vision lies
Look on it with exceeding love and write
The words inspired by wonder and delight

Of tempests wouldst those king.

Ar lett of battles, make thyself a part
Of the great tumult, cling
To the tossed wreck with terror in they heart
Scale, with the assaulting host, the camport's height,
And Strike and struggle in the thickest fight.

So shalt then frame alay

Which haply may endure from age to age; And they who read shall say: "I hat witching hangs upon this poots page! "What art is his the written spells to find "That way, from mood to nood, the willing / sind! William Cullen Bryant


Copied, Occr. 1875.

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Perlafs tens trich love, yet


O listless woman, weary To feel once more they fresh, wild torill T'el give but who Vél Schmund Clarence

, yet die,


can live yout one?




An angel face : — it's sunny wealth of hair
In radiant ripples bathad the graceful throat
And dimpled shoulders; round the rosy
Of the sweet mouth a smile seemed wandering ever!
While in the depths of arare fire that gleamed


Beweath the drooping lashes, slept a world
Of eloquent meaning, passionate yet pare
Dreamy subdued — but oh, how beautiful

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Edgar A



The wonders of all-ruling Providence ;
The jigs that from cxlestial Merry Plus,
Efential beauty; perfect excellence,
Ennoble and refine the native flow
The foch feels - and thence his best resource
To paint his fuelings with subliment oforce.
John Keats

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