Page:The Midsummer Night.djvu/36

And as their mingled fragrance round thee floats,
Let golden visions wreathe thine inner sense;
O sing, as none before thee ever sung,
As never mortal after thee shall sing!
These odorous buds, that on thy breast I lay,
Wake in thee tenderest sensibility,
The might of love, a fancy pure and bright—
More heavenly bright, than ever yet has burned
In mortal breast. A Poet thou shalt be,
The greatest earth has known—whose altitude
No after spirit shall have power to reach.
Gaze thou entranced upon the rising sun,
Or golden light of eve.—Wander alone
By dewy moonlight thro' the still, green wood,
And with a pulse, whose every beat is joy,
Watch how the buds swell from the dark brown rind
Call'd forth by spring.—Be great, yet nothing reck
Of thine own greatness—keep an innocent heart,
Unsoiled by taint of pride. Not to thyself,
Though to all else, seem thou the first of men.