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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529819" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Poet's Portion</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=529819" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">What is a mine—a treasury—a dower— <br>A magic talisman of mighty power? <br>A poet's wide possession of the earth. <br>He has th' enjoyment of a flower's birth <br>Before its budding—ere the first red streaks,— <br>And Winter cannot rob him of their cheeks. <br>Look—if his dawn be not as other men's! <br>Twenty bright flushes—ere another kens <br>The first of sunlight is abroad—he sees <br>Its golden 'lection of the topmost trees, <br>And opes the splendid fissures of the morn. <br>When do his fruits delay, when doth his corn <br>Linger for harvesting? Before the leaf <br>Is commonly abroad, in his piled sheaf <br>The flagging poppies lose their ancient flame. <br>No sweet there is, no pleasure I can name, <br>But he will sip it first—before the lees. <br>'Tis his to taste rich honey,—ere the bees <br>Are busy with the brooms. He may forestall <br>June's rosy advent for his coronal; <br>Before th' expectant buds upon the bough, <br>Twining his thoughts to bloom upon his brow. <br>Oh! blest to see the flower in its seed, <br>Before its leafy presence; for indeed <br>Leaves are but wings on which the summer flies, <br>And each thing perishable fades and dies, <br>Escap'd in thought; but his rich thinkings be <br>Like overflows of immortality: <br>So that what there is steep'd shall perish never, <br>But live and bloom, and be a joy forever.</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=Thomas+Hood">Thomas Hood</a></strong></div>