The Poet's Empire

WHAT power can break the inner harmonies, The rich imaginings, heard like distant sea O'er purple meadow-lands at eve, while we Look starwards mute? Hopes that like mountains rise Into mid-heaven, and to entrancèd eyes 5 Horizon-glories of what is to be,— All these and more lie round us infinitely, Beyond all language fair in cloudless skies. This is the poet's empire. Here may he Reign king-like, throned in splendour and in power 10 No power can shake, so he indeed be king. Free as the wind, untamèd as the sea, When earth weighs heavily, most in that hour He cleaves the heavens in scorn on eagle-wing.