Nor is he far astray, who deems
      That every hope, which rises and grows broad
    In the world’s heart, by ordered impulse streams
      From the great heart of God.

    God wills, man hopes; in common souls 65
      Hope is but vague and undefined,
    Till from the poet’s tongue the message rolls
      A blessing to his kind.

    Never did Poesy appear
      So full of heaven to me, as when 70
    I saw how it would pierce through pride and fear,
      To the lives of coarsest men.

    It may be glorious to write
      Thoughts that shall glad the two or three
    High souls, like those far stars that come in sight 75
      Once in a century;—­

    But better far it is to speak
      One simple word, which now and then
    Shall waken their free nature in the weak 80
      And friendless sons of men;

    To write some earnest verse or line
      Which, seeking not the praise of art. 
    Shall make a clearer faith and manhood shine
      In the untutored heart.

    He who doth this, in verse or prose, 85
      May be forgotten in his day,
    But surely shall be crowned at last with those
      Who live and speak for aye.

HEBE

      I saw the twinkle of white feet. 
    I saw the flash of robes descending;
      Before her ran an influence fleet,
    That bowed my heart like barley bending.

      As, in bare fields, the searching bees 5
    Pilot to blooms beyond our finding,
      It led me on, by sweet degrees
    Joy’s simple honey-cells unbinding.

      Those Graces were that seemed grim Fates;
    With nearer love the sky leaned o’er me; 10
      The long-sought Secret’s golden gates
    On musical hinges swung before me.

      I saw the brimmed bowl in her grasp
    Thrilling with godhood; like a lover
      I sprang the proffered life to clasp;—­ 15
    The beaker fell; the luck was over.

      The Earth has drunk the vintage up;
    What boots it patch the goblet’s splinters? 
      Can Summer fill the icy cup,
    Whose treacherous crystal is but Winter’s? 20

      O spendthrift Haste! await the gods;
    Their nectar crowns the lips of Patience;
      Haste scatters on unthankful sods
    The immortal gift in vain libations.

      Coy Hebe flies from those that woo, 25
    And shuns the hands would seize upon her;
      Follow thy life, and she will sue
    To pour for thee the cup of honor.

TO THE DANDELION