Not song, nor beauty, nor the wondrous power <br />Of the clear sky, nor stream, nor mountain glen, <br />Nor the wide Ocean, turn the hearts of men <br />To love, nor give the world--embracing dower <br />Of inward gentleness:--up from the bed <br />Blest by chaste beauty, men have risen to blood, <br />And life hath perished in the flowery wood, <br />And the poor traveller beneath starlight bled. <br />Thus that musician, in his wealth of song <br />Pouring his numbers, even with the sound <br />Swimming around them, would the heartless throng <br />Have thrust unto his death; but with a bound <br />Spurning the cursed ship, he sought the wave, <br />And Nature's children did her poet save.<br /><br />Henry Alford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lxxvi-arion/
