The Dower

The whole wide earth, O poet, is thy dower!
Claim thou its affluence as by right divine.
For thee suns rise and set, and clear stars shine,
Old ocean rolls, and far heights heavenward tower.
The thrush and nightingale, and every flower
Of every clime and every age, are thine;
All Gods shall fill thy golden cup with wine,
All prophets pledge thee in the uplifted hour!
Thine are the mysteries of life and death:
All loves, all joys, all passion, and all pain,
Temptations shared not, sins thou hast not known,
False hopes, frail raptures trembling at a breath,
The hero’s ecstasy, the martyr’s gain,
The high prayer soaring to the Great White Throne!