Poesy—to E. L. E.

Thou soothing spell whose wildly simple song
Oft woke to sooth my cares nor woke in vain
Wherere I roved wild woods or heaths among
Thou as my comforter did aye remain
Rude minstrel—Harp—what ere the fancies fain
To call thee—beautiful the spell
Thy sounds hath flung around earths every pain
Een I the meanest of the minstrel train
Did muse in rapture oer thy simple shell
& hope on tiptoe at the sound it made
Leaped up & smiled—& doubting once again
Withdrew her timid hand as half afraid
The uncooth dittys which she dared to sing
Was all unworthy of so sweet a string

I heard of parnuss hill castalias stream
& in my dreams had worshiped beauty long
I heard alas but never did I dream
That aught of birthright could to me belong
In that rich paradise of dainty song
Yet have I loved & worshiped & the spring
Of hope—tho not an eagle in the sun
Did like a bird to its rude dittys cling
& of[t] oer visions with a weary wing
Did brood & linger in the day begun
Yet like a sunburst thro a prisons gloom
Or fountain that doth thro a desert run
I met the tidings that thy voice did bring
& felt a triumph when thy praise was won
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