It Can Be Said Of Him, When

Where Are The Songs Of Spring? Aye, Where Are They? Think Not Of Them; Thou Has Thy Music Too.

Even Bees, The Little Almsmen Of Spring Bowers, Know There Is Richest Juice In Poison-flowers.

I Came To Feel How Far Above All Fancy, Pride, And Fickle Maidenhood, All Earthly Pleasure, All Imagined Good, Was The Warm Tremble Of A Devout Kiss.

No Sooner Had I Stepp'd Into These Pleasures Than I Began To Think Of Rhymes And Measures: The Air That Floated By Me Seem'd To Say 'write! Thou Wilt Never Have A Better Day.

How Does The Poet Speak To Men With Power, But By Being Still More A Man Than They