Far, far above this world I soar, <br />And almost nature lose, <br />Aerial regions to explore, <br />With this ambitious Muse. <br /> <br />My towering thoughts with pinions rise, <br />Upon the gales of song, <br />Which waft me through the mental skies, <br />With music on my tongue. <br /> <br />My Muse is all on mystic fire, <br />Which kindles in my breast; <br />To scenes remote she doth aspire, <br />As never yet exprest. <br /> <br />Wrapt in the dust she scorns to lie, <br />Call'd by new charms away; <br />Nor will she e'er refuse to try <br />Such wonders to survey. <br /> <br />Such is the quiet bliss of soul, <br />When in some calm retreat, <br />Where pensive thoughts like streamlets roll, <br />And render silence sweet; <br /> <br />And when the vain tumultuous crowd <br />Shakes comfort from my mind, <br />My muse ascends above the cloud <br />And leaves the noise behind. <br /> <br />With vivid flight she mounts on high <br />Above the dusky maze, <br />And with a perspicacious eye <br />Doth far 'bove nature gaze.<br /><br />George Moses Horton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-poetic-muse/
