And saves the land from pestilence and dearth,
Comes not more joyous than the spirit dream,
Steals o’er the poet’s troubled soul, and gives
The rapture-speaking voice and tone!
He rises to another sphere—he lives
For a short season in a world alone!
Alone!—oh no! there Fancy groups her forms
More lovely far than earth presents to view;
More beauteous garniture that land adorns—
The skies assume a deeper, brighter blue.