So many high behaviors
Salute the bard who is alive
And only sees what he doth give.



Coin the day-dawn into lines
In which its proper splendor shines;
Coin the moonlight into verse
Which all its marvel shall rehearse,
Chasing with words fast-flowing things; nor try
To plant thy shrivelled pedantry
On the shoulders of the sky.



Ah, not to me those dreams belong!
A better voice peals through my song.



The Muse's hill by Fear is guarded,
A bolder foot is still rewarded.



His instant thought a poet spoke,
And filled the age his fame;
An inch of ground the lightning strook
But lit the sky with flame.