Dear never-halting Poet!
Yet our frail Song ’twixt Right and Wrong
Ofttimes will pierce unwitting;
As were the gleams of Poet’s dreams
Fair beams of Beauty flitting
Whence Reason ne’er snuffed thro’ the air
Wooing Time’s proud permitting.
No longer with pard, kin or kith,
Stranger, so wilt thou wander
A murky isle, in splendid style