Stooping at the porch, we entered;—where the morning meal was laid,
Turning over holy pages, one as pure and holy played,—
Little Paul, who links more firmly our two hearts than clasp of gold;
And I caught a blessed sentence, while I took him to my hold:
“Peace,” it said, “O restless spirit, eager as the climbing wave!
With my peace there flows a largesse such as monarchs never gave.”
1857.
APOLLO.
Vainly, O burning Poets!