No World’s large ear to woo
My measures all upon thy feet are thrown.
My Mate thou art, my single Audience thou,
Thence never do I sue
Vainly for plaudit: is not this enow?
Ah, if that throstle glimpsed a Vision clear,
A Vision seeming Truth;
If unto him, from Life’s encrusting sphere,
An iridescent Beauty had out-twirled,
In yon sequestered booth