Thought
Spirit of Thought, not thine the songs that flow
To fill with love or lull Idalian hours.
Thou wert not nurtured ’mid the marish flowers,
Or where the nightshade blooms, or lilies blow:
But on the mountains. From those keeps of snow
Thou seëst the heavens, and earth, and marts and towers
Of teeming man; the battle smoke that lours
Above the nations where they strive below;—
The gleam of golden cohorts and the cloud