Her son, albeit the Muse's livery <br />And measured courtly paces rouse his taunts, <br />Naked and hairy in his savage haunts, <br />To Nature only will he bend the knee; <br />Spouting the founts of her distillery <br />Like rough rock-sources; and his woes and wants <br />Being Nature's, civil limitation daunts <br />His utterance never; the nymphs blush, not he. <br />Him, when he blows of Earth, and Man, and Fate, <br />The Muse will hearken to with graver ear <br />Than many of her train can waken: him <br />Would fain have taught what fruitful things and dear <br />Must sink beneath the tidewaves, of their weight, <br />If in no vessel built for sea they swim.<br /><br />George Meredith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-orson-of-the-muse/
