MUST COMPREHEND ALL EXISTENCE, ALL HUMAN SINS AND SUFFERINGS; BUT IN
COMPREHENDING, IT TRANSMUTES THEM.--THE POET IN HIS TWO-FOLD BEING,--THE
ACTUAL AND THE IDEAL.--THE INFLUENCE OF GENIUS OVER THE STERNEST
REALITIES OF EARTH; OVER OUR PASSIONS; WARS AND SUPERSTITIONS.--ITS
IDENTITY IS WITH HUMAN PROGRESS.--ITS AGENCY, EVEN WHERE UNACKNOWLEDGED,
IS UNIVERSAL.

Oh, thou true Iris! sporting on thy bow
Of tears and smiles! Jove's herald, Poetry,
Thou reflex image of all joy and woe,
_Both_ fused in light by thy dear fantasy!
Lo! from the clay how Genius lifts its life,
And grows one pure Idea, one calm soul!
True, its own clearness must reflect our strife;
True, its completeness must comprise our whole;
But as the sun transmutes the sullen hues
Of marsh-grown vapours into vermeil dyes,
And melts them later into twilight dews,
Shedding on flowers the baptism of the skies;
So glows the Ideal in the air we breathe,
So from the fumes of sorrow and of sin,
Doth its warm light in rosy colours wreathe
Its playful cloudland, storing balms within.

Survey the Poet in his mortal mould,
Man, amongst men, descended from his throne!
The moth that chased the star now frets the fold,
Our cares, our faults, our follies are his own.
Passions as idle, and desires as vain,
Vex the wild heart, and dupe the erring brain.