Genius Must Be Born, And Never Can

Who Climbs The Grammar-tree, Distinctly Knows Where Noun, And Verb, And Participle Grows.

For All Have Not The Gift Of Martyrdom.

My Hands Are Guilty, But My Heart Is Free.

The Glorious Lamp Of Heaven, The Radiant Sun, Is Nature's Eye.

Desire Of Power, On Earth A Vicious Weed, Yet, Sprung From High, Is Of Celestial Seed: In God 'tisglory; And When Men Aspire, 'tis But A Spark Too Much Of Heavenly Fire.