This was a Poet—It is That
Distills amazing sense
From ordinary Meanings—
And Attar so immense
***
From
the familiar species
That perished by the Door—
We wonder it was not
Ourselves
Arrested it—before—
Of Pictures, the Discloser—
The
Poet—it is He—
Entitles Us—by Contrast—
To ceaseless Poverty—
Of
Portion—so unconscious—
The Robbing—could not harm —
Himself—to Him—a
Fortune—
Exterior—to Time—