God's prophets of the Beautiful,
These Poets were.

God's prophets of the Beautiful,
These Poets were.

Who all in raptures their own works rehearse,
And drawl out measur'd prose, which they call verse.

Who all in raptures their own works rehearse,
And drawl out measur'd prose, which they call verse.

Verse is not written, it is bled; Out of the poet's abstract head. Words drip the poem on the page; read more

Verse is not written, it is bled; Out of the poet's abstract head. Words drip the poem on the page; Out of his grief, delight and rage.

There is a pleasure in poetic pains,
Which only poets know.

There is a pleasure in poetic pains,
Which only poets know.

They best can judge a poet's worth,
Who oft themselves have known
The pangs of a poetic read more

They best can judge a poet's worth,
Who oft themselves have known
The pangs of a poetic birth
By labours of their own.

Poets alone are sure of immortality; they are the truest diviners
of nature.

Poets alone are sure of immortality; they are the truest diviners
of nature.

Ages elapsed ere Homer's lamp appeared,
And ages ere the Mantuan Swan was heard;
To carry nature read more

Ages elapsed ere Homer's lamp appeared,
And ages ere the Mantuan Swan was heard;
To carry nature lengths unknown before,
To give a Milton birth, asked ages more.

Ah, poet-dreamer, within those walls
What triumphs shall be yours!
For all are happy and rich and read more

Ah, poet-dreamer, within those walls
What triumphs shall be yours!
For all are happy and rich and great
In that City of By-and-by.

Most joyful let the Poet be;
It is through him that all men see.

Most joyful let the Poet be;
It is through him that all men see.