POETRY.
POETS, AND POETS.
I KNEW a poet,—one with eyes of laughter,
A face like a sun-smile, eager as a boy, .Singing as the birds sing, trusting the Hereafter : I knew a poet, and his name was Joy !
I knew a poet, who had eyes for beauty, Piercing the cloud-mists, reaching over Death, sounding the world's song, like a hymn of duty : 1 knew a poet, and his name was Faith ! One there was also, gentle as a woman, `Walking the sunless alleys of the city,— One all-compassionate, eloquently human : I knew a poet, and his name was Pity !
But these with their loveless tissue of fair weaving, These with the joyless musical refrain ; These letting life go, blind and unbelieving; These looking earthward only, and in vain ; These that have lain in the poppy flowers waving, Grown where the fields turn wilderness and bare ; These with the look-back, and the lotus-craving ; These with the thin, self-echo of despair ; These ever straining after days that were not, These with their reckless abandonment of youth ;
These that restrain not, wonder not, revere not,—
These are no Poets, or there is no Truth.
RENNELL RODD.
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