[THE POET COMMUNETH WITH HIS SOUL.]
"Thou hast a heart," my spirit said;
"Seek out a kindred one, and wed:
So passes grief, comes joy instead."
"True, Soul, I have," I quick replied;
"But in this weary world and wide
That other hath my search defied."
"Poet, thou hast an eye to see;
Thou knowest all things as they be;
The spheres are open books to thee.
"Thou art a missioned creature, sent
To preach of beauty—teach content:
In life's Sahara pitch thy tent!
"It is not good to be alone—
Not fit for any living one—
There's nothing single save the sun.
"Beasts, fishes, birds—yea, atoms mate,
Acknowledging an ordered fate:
What dost thou in a single state?"
"O, Soul!" I bitterly replied,
For I was full of haughty pride,
"Would in my birth that I had died!
"I feel what thou hast said is truth;
But I am past the bloom of youth,
And Beauty's eye has lost its ruth.
"I languish for some gentle heart
To throb with mine, devoid of art,
Perfect and pure in every part—