_For the Table Book._
The poesy of the earth, sea, air, and sky,
Though death is powerful in course of time
With wars and battlements, will never die.
But triumph in the silence of sublime
Survival. Frost, like tyranny, might climb
The nurseling germs of favourite haunts; the roots
Will grow hereafter. Terror on the deep
Is by the calm subdu’d, that Beauty e’en might creep
On moonlight waves to coral rest. The fruits
Blush in the winds, and from the branches leap
To mossy beds existing in the ground.
Stars swim unseen, through solar hemispheres,
Yet in the floods of night, how brightly round
The zone of poesy, they reflect the rolling years.