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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=392050" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To A Poet Breaking Silence</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=392050" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Too wearily had we and song<br>Been left to look and left to long,<br>Yea, song and we to long and look,<br>Since thine acquainted feet forsook<br>The mountain where the Muses hymn<br>For Sinai and the Seraphim.<br>Now in both the mountains' shine<br>Dress thy countenance, twice divine!<br>From Moses and the Muses draw<br>The Tables of thy double Law!<br>His rod-born fount and Castaly<br>Let the one rock bring forth for thee,<br>Renewing so from either spring<br>The songs which both thy countries sing:<br>Or we shall fear lest, heavened thus long,<br>Thou should'st forget thy native song,<br>And mar thy mortal melodies<br>With broken stammer of the skies.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=392050" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Ah! let the sweet birds of the Lord<br>With earth's waters make accord;<br>Teach how the crucifix may be<br>Carven from the laurel-tree,<br>Fruit of the Hesperides<br>Burnish take on Eden-trees,<br>The Muses' sacred grove be wet<br>With the red dew of Olivet,<br>And Sappho lay her burning brows<br>In white Cecilia's lap of snows!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=392050" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Thy childhood must have felt the stings<br>Of too divine o'ershadowings;<br>Its odorous heart have been a blossom<br>That in darkness did unbosom,<br>Those fire-flies of God to invite,<br>Burning spirits, which by night<br>Bear upon their laden wing<br>To such hearts impregnating.<br>For flowers that night-wings fertilize<br>Mock down the stars' unsteady eyes,<br>And with a happy, sleepless glance<br>Gaze the moon out of countenance.<br>I think thy girlhood's watchers must<br>Have took thy folded songs on trust,<br>And felt them, as one feels the stir<br>Of still lightnings in the hair,<br>When conscious hush expects the cloud<br>To speak the golden secret loud<br>Which tacit air is privy to;<br>Flasked in the grape the wine they knew,<br>Ere thy poet-mouth was able<br>For its first young starry babble.<br>Keep'st thou not yet that subtle grace?<br>Yea, in this silent interspace,<br>God sets His poems in thy face!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=392050" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The loom which mortal verse affords,<br>Out of weak and mortal words,<br>Wovest thou thy singing-weed in,<br>To a rune of thy far Eden.<br>Vain are all disguises! Ah,<br>Heavenly incognita!<br>Thy mien bewrayeth through that wrong<br>The great Uranian House of Song!<br>As the vintages of earth<br>Taste of the sun that riped their birth,<br>We know what never cadent Sun<br>Thy lamped clusters throbbed upon,<br>What plumed feet the winepress trod;<br>Thy wine is flavorous of God.<br>Whatever singing-robe thou wear<br>Has the Paradisal air;<br>And some gold feather it has kept<br>Shows what Floor it lately swept!</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=Francis+Thompson">Francis Thompson</a></strong></div>