Man at his little prayer tells Heaven his thought,
To man entrusts his thought—"Friend, this is mine."
The immortal poets within my breast have sought,
Saying, "What is thine?"
THE LAWS OF VERSE
Dear laws, come to my breast!
Take all my frame, and make your close arms meet
Around me; and so ruled, so warmed, so pressed,
I breathe, aware; I feel my wild heart beat.
Dear laws, be wings to me!
The feather merely floats. O be it heard
Through weight of life—the skylark's gravity—
That I am not a feather, but a bird.
"THE RETURN TO NATURE"
Histories of Modern Poetry
(I) PROMETHEUS
It was the south: mid-everything,
Mid-land, mid-summer, noon;
And deep within a limpid spring
The mirrored sun of June.
Splendour in freshness! Ah, who stole
This sun, this fire, from heaven?
He holds it shining in his soul,
Prometheus the forgiven.
(II) THETIS