COTTON 
“‘Where sleeps the poet who shall fitly sing 
The source wherefrom doth spring 
That mighty commerce which, confined 
To the mean channels of no selfish mart, 
Goes out to every shore 
Of this broad earth, and throngs the sea with ships 
That bear no thunders; hushes hungry lips 
In alien lands; 
Joins with a delicate web remotest strands; 
And gladdening rich and poor, 
Doth gild Parisian domes, 
Or feed the cottage smoke of English homes, 
And only bounds its blessings by mankind !’” 
