Inscriptions

Poet, a truce to your song!
Have you heard the heart sing?
Like a brook among trees,
Like the humming of bees,
Like the ripple of wine:
Had you heard, would you stay
Blowing bubbles so long?
You have ears for the spheres--
Have you heard the heart sing?

* * * * *

Have you loved the good books of the world,--
And written none?
Have you loved the great poet,--
And burnt your little rhyme?
'O be my friend, and teach me to be thine.'

* * * * *

By many hands the work of God is done,
Swart toil, pale thought, flushed dream, he spurneth none:
Yea! and the weaver of a little rhyme
Is seen his worker in his own full time.