Invocation

Oh, Poesy! exquisite gift, Thou art a magnet that shall lift My gold from out the drossy rift. Thou art my soul's refulgent beam My guiding star to ever gleam A flaming pillar in my dream. Thou art my drifting-cloud by day Whose bright pavilion-courts alway Allure me with their fair display. Thou art a Hebe that presents A chalice to my lips, and thence I drain the charméd, rich contents. Delicious, bubbling nectars twine Their trickling tendrils as a vine Through all my being; steept in wine And numb to any thought of earth I wrestle with my spirit's mirth In travail with a poem's birth. When chasing cares are wearying With all my life to thee I cling-- Believing I was born to sing. Lo! thou hast taught me where to fly Escaping every ill; for I, Transfigured by thy witchery, As Daphne in the laurel park Seem wholly shut in leafy ark, I feel beneath my rugged bark A nervéd pulse that never cowers; The turgid stream of sap hath powers That shall beget a thousand flowers. I quiver from my very root, I strive to doff my leafy suit And load my boughs with perfect fruit-- And lift my gnarled limbs to thee-- I writhe and struggle to be free Endowed with thy divinity. Thou art my fast and feast; and true Thou art my sweetest twilight-dew, That grants me purer life anew. And as the flower unto the moon Returns its hoarded sweets full soon, I yield thee all, in verse and tune.