A poet crossed our sterile lands
That blossomed as he came.
Like men benumbed who spread their hands
Against a cordial flame,
We clustered to that burning soul.
Our spirits, sick and dim,
Touched his vesture and were whole,
Such virtue flowed from him.

Our words fell faintly on his ears,
For in a druid mist
He moved 'mid mortal hopes and fears
To some diviner tryst.
Hearkening through the human press
To a far, ethereal tone,
He made the crowd his wilderness,
Surrounded and alone.