What instinct forces man to journey on, Urged by a longing blind but dominant
Nothing he sees can hold him, nothing daunt His never failing eagerness
The sun Setting in splendour every night has won His vassalage; those towers flamboyant...
Only on me, the lonely one,
The unending stars of the night shine,
The stone fountain whispers its magic song,
To me alone, to me the lonely
HE blackbird's in the briar,
The seagull's on the ground-They are nests, and they're more than nests," he said,"They are tokens I have found
There, where the rain-dashed
Marks an empty glade,
Until he hears Apollo's call To make a hallowed sacrifice,
A Poet lives in feeble thrall To people's empty vanities;
And silent is his sacred lyre,
His soul partakes of chilly sleep,
There was strength in him and the weak won freely from it, There was an infinite pity, and hard hearts grew soft thereby,
There was truth so unshrinking and starry-shining, Men read clear by its light and learned to scorn a lie
His were ...