There be whose thoughts have eagle wings of speech,
Not hampered more than is the eagle's flight,
And followed far with wonder and delight;
Their sovran sway of hearts who would impeach?
There be who never to their kind outreach,
Self-willed to silence, on some native height.
There be dumb souls whose wistful eyes, too bright,
Do like the wounded fawn's our aid beseech.

Not mute am I except by force of fate;
For I have words of fire, and swift as flame,
And words, and words, and words, in endless store,
That, leal and willing, on my thought do wait;
But I in all the world no ear may claim;
So halt at home those heralds evermore.