OPENING OF SECOND PART OF 'PSYCHOZOIA.'
1 Whatever man he be that dares to deem
True poets' skill to spring of earthly race,
I must him tell, that he doth mis-esteem
Their strange estate, and eke himself disgrace
By his rude ignorance. For there's no place
For forced labour, or slow industry,
Of flagging wits, in that high fiery chase;
So soon as of the Muse they quickened be,
At once they rise, and lively sing like lark in sky.
2 Like to a meteor, whose material
Is low unwieldy earth, base unctuous slime,
Whose inward hidden parts ethereal
Lie close upwrapt in that dull sluggish fime,
Lie fast asleep, till at some fatal time
Great Phoebus' lamp has fired its inward sprite,
And then even of itself on high doth climb:
That erst was dark becomes all eye, all sight,
Bright star, that to the wise of future things gives light.
3 Even so the weaker mind, that languid lies,
Knit up in rags of dirt, dark, cold, and blind,
So soon that purer flame of love unties
Her clogging chains, and doth her sprite unbind,
She soars aloft; for she herself doth find
Well plumed; so raised upon her spreaden wing,
She softly plays, and warbles in the wind,
And carols out her inward life and spring
Of overflowing joy, and of pure love doth sing.