The Poet's Mind
Vex not thou the poet's mind
With shallow wit;
Vex not thou poet's mind,
For thou canst not fathom it.
Clear and bright it should be ever,
Flowing like a crystal river,
Bright as light, and clear as wind.
Dark-brow'd sophist, come not anear;
All the place is holy ground;
Hollow smile and frozen sneer
Come not here.
Holy water will I pour into every spicy flower
Of the laude-shrubs that hedge it around.
The flowers would faint at your cruel cheer.
In your eye there is death,
There is frost in your breath
Which would blight plants.
Where you stand you cannot hear
From the groves within
The wild-bird's din.
In the heart of the garden the merry bird chants.
It would fall to the ground if you came in.
In the middle leaps a fountain
Like sheet lighting,
ever brightening
WIth a low melodious thunder;
All day and all night it sever drawn
From the brain of the purple mountain
Which stands in the distance yonder.
It springs on a level of bowery lawn,
And the mountain draws it from heaven above,
And it sings a song of undying love;
And yet, tho' its voice be so clear and full,
You never would hear it, your ears are so dull;
So keep where you are; you are foul with sin;
It would shrink to the earth if you came in.
ALFRED LORD TENNYSON-1830
Anne Bronte 1820-1849
Christina Rossetti 1830-1894
The Poet
The poet in a golden clime was born,
With golden stars above;
Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn,
the love of love.
He saw thro' life and death, thro' good and ill.
He saw thro' his own soul.
The marvel of the everlasting will,
An open scroll,
Before him lay; with echoing feet he threaded
the secretest walks of fame:
The viewless arrows of his thoughts were
headed
And wing'd with flame,
Like Indian reeds blown from his silver
tongue,
And so fierce a flight,
From Calpe unto Caucasus they sung,
Filling with light
And vagrant melodies the winds which bore
them earthward till they lit;
Then, like the arrow-seeds of the field flower,
the fruitful wit
Cleaving took root, and springing forth anew
Where'er they fell, behold
Like to the mother plant in semblance, grew
A flower all gold,
And bravely furnished all abroad to fling
The winged shafts of truth,
To throng with stately bloom the breathing
spring
Of Hope and Youth.
So many minds did gird their orbs with beams,
Tho' one did fling the fire;
Heaven flow'd upon the soul in many dreams
of high desire.
Thus truth was multiplied on thrush, the world
Like one great garden show'd
And through the wreaths of floating dark
upcurl'd.
Rare sunrise flow'd.
And Freedom rear'd in that august sunrise
Her beautiful bold brow,
When rites and forms before his burning eyes
Melted like snow.
There was no blood upon her maiden robes
Sunn'd by those Orient skies;
But round about the circle of the globes
of her keen eyes
And in her raiment's hem was traced a flame
WISDOM, a name to shake
All evil dreams of power---a sacred name.
And when she spake,
Her words did gather thunder as they ran,
And as lighting to the thunder
Which follows it, riving the spirits of man,
Making earth wonder,
So was their meaning to her words. No sword
of wrath her right arm whirl'd,
But one poor poet's scroll, and with His word
she shook the world.
ALFRED LORD TENNYSON - 1830
Jeremiah 15: 15-21
