167

To learn the Transport by the Pain
As Blind Men learn the sun!
To die of thirst-suspecting
That Brooks in Meadows run!

To stay the homesick-homesick feet
Upon a foreign shore-
Haunted by native lands, the while-
And blue-beloved air!

This is the Sovereign Anguish!
This-the signal woe!
These are the patient “Laureates”
Whose voices-trained-below-

Ascend in ceaseless Carol-
Inaudible, indeed,
To us-the duller scholars
Of the Mysterious Bard!