An old poem returns in this our time,
Singing as sweetly as in days gone by,
Tuned to rhythm that can never die,
And yet my heart is quiet, for I pine
For a lost presence that leaves no sign--
A shadowy self that once would smile and sigh,
And muse in memory old verse to try,
That one might trace the form behind the line.
Oh heart leap up again! Just once impart
The fire that animated what was read,
Again possess the line, the poet's dream,
And in a flash reveal the magic art
That creates truth! Leave now no word unsaid
To kindle in the hearts of men, the gleam.