When want, or fear, or woe, is in the throat,
So that each word gasped out is like a shriek
Pressed from the sore heart, or a strange, wild note
Sung by some fay or fiend! There is a strength,
Which dies if stretched too far, or spun too fine,
Which has more height than breadth, more depth than length;
Let but this force of thought and speech be mine,
And he that will may take the sleek fat phrase,
Which glows but burns not, though it beam and shine;
Light, but no heat,—a flash, but not a blaze.”