When the full-grown poet came, Out spake pleased Nature (the round impassive globe, with all its shows of day and night), saying, He is mine;But out spake to the Soul of man, proud, jealous and unreconciled, Nay, he is mine alone;— Then the full-grown poet stood between the two, and took each by the hand;And to-day and ever so stands, as blender, united, tightly holding hands, Which he will never release until he reconciles the two, And wholly and joyously blends them.

Selected Poems