THE POET.

HE will come again as oft of old among you, With his burden to fulfil;— Did ye hearken ever to the songs they sung you Till the song was still?

HE will bear again the scorn, the idle wonder, And heart-hunger and love’s need; You will drown the sound of music in your thunder, And he will not heed.

Singing unperplexed above the mocking laughter Till his day be overpast; Till the music dies, and silence follows after And ye turn at last,—

Then when all the echoes breathe it and ye know it, Ye will seek him to revere; Cry aloud, and call him, master, lover, poet! And he will not hear.