BETA

The Poet’s Home.

Mark yonder cot, among the trees, 1
Where flow’rs in native freedom twine,2
Whose fragrance courts the healthy breeze3
That sheds around their scent divine.4
Within that humble cot thou’lt find5
More pow’r than dwells ‘neath gilded dome ;6
The wealth of wit, the pow’r of mind,7
For there behold a poet’s home.8
While counted gold, ‘neath bolt and bar,9
To hide from all the miser tries,10
The poet’s wealth—more precious far11
In open page, uncounted lies.12
The pearls of thought, the mental ore,13
By fancy’s fire to gold refined,14
The poet makes no hidden store,15
But shares his wealth with all mankind.16
Then wealth, and pomp, and pow’r give way,17
And warriors bold with flag unfurl’d ;18
A king can but one nation sway19
The poet’s rule is o’er the world !20
The honour be, without a blot,21
Around his path where’er he roam,22
But where he loves and wanders not23
Be blessings ! — on the poet’s home.24