We sport; we toy. The theme demands thy hand,
Poet we look for, come; awake! Be born!
Sing as thou must. Sing in what tongue thou wilt,
So thou make plain that tale to every ear,
Uplifting all its sorrow, pity, guilt,
For friends and foes, or friends once foes, to hear,
Till every shore washed by the encircling sea,
From eve’s first portal to the gates of morn,
Echoes that voice, and takes its tone from thee.
Poet we look for, come; awake! Be born!