HE sits above the clang and dust of Time, <br />With the world's secret trembling on his lip. <br />He asks not converse or companionship <br />In the cold starlight where thou canst not climb. <br /> <br />The undelivered tidings in his breast <br />Suffer him not to rest. <br />He sees afar the immemorable throng, <br />And binds the scattered ages with a song. <br /> <br />The glorious riddle of his rhythmic breath, <br />His might, his spell, we know not what they be; <br />We only feel, whate'er he uttereth, <br />This savors not of death, <br />This hath a relish of eternity.<br /><br />William Watson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-sovereign-poet/
