Nor voice, nor echo will thy song recall.
In the Corinthian brass thy feeble hand
Can write no name; thy chisel cannot bite
The marbles of Carrara pure and grand.
He who would climb Fame’s towering mountain height
Must have a double gift, a genius rare:
Unto a happy star he must unite.
Poet, alas! and lover, brethren are;
Twins of the soul, each hath his cherished dream,
Some saint ideal, worshipped from afar;