Begin, O poet, with this single line,
And let thy metre fall and swiftly rise:
Mayhap, twixt verse and verse, the high design
Of Gods shall be revealèd to thine eyes.
Shouldst thou unknown, unhonour'd, sing and die,
Bereav'd in death of what thy life hath wrought,-
Still hast thou raised thy music to the sky,
Still hast thou writ, and seen: still hast thou sought.
Should thy bright years by fortune be betrayed,
Thou shalt not in not knowing be unknown:
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
What hand and mind have made outlasteth stone.
Write on, then, poet: write, and rest at ease.
None e'er found sorrow in his poesies.
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