L'Envoi - The Poet And His Songs

As the birds come in the Spring,         We know not from where;     As the stars come at evening         From depths of the air;     As the rain comes from the cloud,         And the brook from the ground;     As suddenly, low or loud,         Out of silence a sound;     As the grape comes to the vine,         The fruit to the tree;     As the wind comes to the pine,         And the tide to the sea;     As come the white sails of ships         O'er the ocean's verge;     As comes the smile to the lips,         The foam to the surge;     So come to the Poet his songs,         All hitherward blown     From the misty realm, that belongs         To the vast unknown.     His, and not his, are the lays         He sings; and their fame     Is his, and not his; and the praise         And the pride of a name.     For voices pursue him by day,         And haunt him by night,     And he listens, and needs must obey,         When the Angel says: "Write!"