IX

The passion-winged Ministers of thought,

      Who were his flocks, whom near the living streams

      Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught

      The love which was its music, wander not,—

      Wander no more, from kindling brain to brain,

      But droop there, whence they sprung; and mourn their lot

      Round the cold heart, where, after their sweet pain,

They ne'er will gather strength, or find a home again.