Sing, sing -- Poet, sing! With the thorn beneath thy breast, Robbing thee of all thy rest; Hidden thorn for ever thine, Therefore dost thou sit and twine Lays of sorrowing -- Lays that wake a mighty gladness, Spite of all their mournful sadness. Sing, sing -- Poet sing! It doth ease thee of thy sorrow -- "Darkling" singing till the morrow; Never weary of thy trust, Hoping, loving as thou must, Let thy music ring; Noble cheer it doth impart, Strength of will and strength of heart. Sing, sing -- Poet, sing! Thou art made a human voice; Wherefore shouldst thou not rejoice That the tears of thy mute brother Bearing pangs he may not smother, Through thee are flowing -- For his dim, unuttered grief Through thy song hath found relief? Sing, sing -- Poet, sing! Join the music of the stars, Wheeling on their sounding cars; Each responsive in its place To the choral hymn of space -- Lift, oh lift thy wing -- And the thorn beneath thy breast. Though it pierce, shall give thee rest. |