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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=506728" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Poet's Songs.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=506728" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The copse-wood merely sows<br>Itself, not planted;<br>And so it is with those<br>Strange and enchanted<br>Moods that have taken root,<br>Bloomed, and e'en borne fruit,<br>Or e'er the poet knew't,<br>Beauty-haunted.<br>The little songs that fly,<br>When the lips parted<br>Let dreams of ear and eye<br>Forth, so warm-hearted:<br>Be it a joy or pain,<br>Each to chaunt is fain<br>What in the parent brain<br>Soothed or smarted.<br>This is the poet's dower,<br>None, none completer;<br>As if 'twere Love's own flower,<br>Than all flowers sweeter,<br>Which, as the seer saith,<br>Still breathes a faery breath<br>Where Beauty smiles, though Death<br>May come to meet her.</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=Robert+Crawford">Robert Crawford</a></strong></div>