THERE be whose thoughts have eagle wings of speech, Not hampered more than is the eagle's flight, And followed far with wonder and delight; Their sovran sway of hearts who would impeach? There be who never to their kind outreach, Self-willed to silence, on some native height. There be dumb souls whose wistful eyes, too bright, Do like the wounded fawn's our aid beseech. Not mute am I except by force of fate; For I have words of fire, and swift as flame, And words, and words, and words, in endless store, That, leal and willing, on my thought do wait; But I in all the world no ear may claim; So halt at home those heralds evermore. |