THE POETIC IMPULSE. 



Away vain yearnings for a wild ideal ! 



Why tempt ye me like visions from above ? 

 Why throng round one who dwells amid things real, 



Who quaffs the cup of earthly grief and love ? 



Away, — away, — and leave me still to follow 

 The varied path God gives me to pursue ; 



The joys of fancy are but false and hollow, 

 They shall not win me to forget the true. 



Away, — nor tempt me with your bright revealings 



Of poesy's sweet fairy-land of dreams ; 

 Better for me to nurse the gentler feelings 



Which light my home with calm contentment's beams. 



Away, — away — ye make my footsteps falter, 

 When o'er my lowly path your fair forms come 



To her who serves at the Penates' altar 

 The Delphic oracle must still be dumb. 



