The mighty poets from their flowing store <br />Dispense like casual alms the careless ore; <br />Through throngs of men their lonely way they go, <br />Let fall their costly thoughts, nor seem to know.- <br />Not mine the rich and showering hand, that strews <br />The facile largess of a stintless Muse. <br />A fitful presence, seldom tarrying long, <br />Capriciously she touches me to song- <br />Then leaves me to lament her flight in vain, <br />And wonder will she ever come again.<br /><br />William Watson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/prelude-26/
