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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=115229" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To a silent poet</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=115229" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I see the sons of Genius rise<br>  The nobles of our land;<br> And foremost in the gathering ranks<br>  I see the poet band.<br> <br> That Priesthood of the beautiful,<br>  To whom alone 'tis given<br> To lift our spirits from the dust,<br>  Back to their native heaven.<br> <br> But there is one amid the throng,<br>  Not past his manhood's prime;<br> The laurel wreath upon his brow,<br>  Has greener grown with time.<br> <br> And in his eye yet glows the light<br>  Of the celestial fire;<br> But cast beside him, on the earth,<br>  Is his neglected lyre.<br> <br> The lyre, whose high, heroic notes<br>  A thousand hearts have stirred,<br> Lies mute, -- the skillful hand no more<br>  Awakes one slumbering chord.<br> <br> Oh poet! rouse thee from thy dreams!<br>  Wake from thy voiceless slumbers!<br> And once again give to the breeze<br>  The music of thy numbers.<br> <br> Sing, for our country claims her bard,<br>  She listens for thy strains;<br> Sing, for upon our jarring earth,<br>  Too much of discord reigns.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Anne+Lynch+Botta">Anne Lynch Botta</a></strong> from <em><a href="http://sources.citatepedia.com/from.php?a=Anne+Lynch+Botta&d=Poems">Poems</a></em></div>