The Poet's Recompense.

His heart's a burning censer, filled with spice From fairer vales than those of Araby, Breathing such prayers to heaven, that the nice Discriminating ear of Deity Can cull sweet praises from the rare perfume. Man cannot know what starry lights illume The soaring spirit of his brother man! He judges harshly with his mind's eyes closed; His loftiest understanding cannot scan The heights where Poet-souls have oft reposed; He cannot feel the chastened influence Divine, that lights the Ideal atmosphere, And never to his uninspir'd sense Rolls the majestic hymn that inspirates the Seer.