THERE’S a rare Soul of Poesy which may be br But concentrated by the chastened dreams br Of constant hearts. Where’er the ministry br Of beautiful Nature hath enhanced the themes br Of some Petrarchian mind whose story gleams br Within the Past like a moon-silvered sea, br Or where grey Interest the spirit free br Of faithful Love hath caged in iron schemes, br Or round it stirr’d such dangers as o’erdrove br Long Ruin’s storm at last—there evermore br The very airs that whisper to the grove, br The echo’s mystery and the streamlet’s lore br Savour of Passion and transfusive pour br Abroad suggestions to heroic Love.