TELL me, what is a poet-s thought?
Is it on the sudden born?
Is it from the starlight caught?
Is it by the tempest taught,
Or by whispering morn?

Was it cradled in the brain?
Chain-d awhile, or nurs-d in night?
Was it wrought with toil and pain?
Did it bloom and fade again,
Ere it burst to light?

No more question of its birth:
Rather love its better part!
-T is a thing of sky and earth,
Gathering all its golden worth
From the Poet-s heart.