Déillusion

Too soon, alas! too soon I plunged into the world with tone and clang, And they scarcely comprehended what the Poet wildly sang. Not the spirit‐glance deep gazing into nature's inmost soul, Not the mystic aspirations that the Poet's words unroll. Cold and spiritless and silent—yea, with scorn received they me, Whilst on meaner brows around me wreath'd the laurel crown I see. And I, who in my bosom felt the godlike nature glow, I wore the mask of folly while I sang of deepest woe. But, courage! years may pass—this mortal frame be laid in earth, But my spirit reign triumphant in the country of my birth!