WHAT power can break the inner harmonies, <br /> The rich imaginings, heard like distant sea <br /> O'er purple meadow-lands at eve, while we <br />Look starwards mute? Hopes that like mountains rise <br />Into mid-heaven, and to entrancèd eyes <br />5 <br /> Horizon-glories of what is to be,— <br /> All these and more lie round us infinitely, <br />Beyond all language fair in cloudless skies. <br />This is the poet's empire. Here may he <br /> Reign king-like, throned in splendour and in power <br />10 <br /> No power can shake, so he indeed be king. <br />Free as the wind, untamèd as the sea, <br /> When earth weighs heavily, most in that hour <br /> He cleaves the heavens in scorn on eagle-wing.<br /><br />Frederick George Scott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-poet-s-empire/
