LEnvoi - The Poet And His Songs


    As the birds come in the Spring,
        We know not from where;
    As the stars come at evening
        From depths of the air;

    As the rain comes from the cloud,
        And the brook from the ground;
    As suddenly, low or loud,
        Out of silence a sound;

    As the grape comes to the vine,
        The fruit to the tree;
    As the wind comes to the pine,
        And the tide to the sea;

    As come the white sails of ships
        O'er the ocean's verge;
    As comes the smile to the lips,
        The foam to the surge;

    So come to the Poet his songs,
        All hitherward blown
    From the misty realm, that belongs
        To the vast unknown.

    His, and not his, are the lays
        He sings; and their fame
    Is his, and not his; and the praise
        And the pride of a name.

    For voices pursue him by day,
        And haunt him by night,
    And he listens, and needs must obey,
        When the Angel says: "Write!"


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