And store quintuple harvests in my heart concealed.
See, out of line a single corn-stem stands
Advanced beyond the foremost of his bands,
And waves his blades upon the very edge
And hottest thicket of the battling hedge.
Thou lustrous stalk, that canst nor walk nor talk,
Still dost thou type the poet-soul sublime
That leads the vanward of his timid time,
And sings up cowards with commanding rhyme—
Soul calm, like thee, yet fain, like thee, to grow