The Genius

Lucid, within the night he saw a star :
Lighting the darkness of his soul, supreme,
Piercing its shadows deep it came. There, far,
His waking soul beheld a flashing dream.
Out of his idle youth, his lethargy
He woke, his being burning with desire,
And sought like one through scorn and infamy
To win for men an elevating fire.
In solitude he wrought, fashion'd his dream :
White from the fires of life its chaos drew,
And by his gift promethean (supreme)
He forged a form that into Beauty grew :
He gave his work to men ; engraved his name,
This English youth, upon the scroll of Fame.