The Shrine of Song

IN mute amazement oft I pause before

The portals of Song’s shrine and list to those

Whose music from its classic cloisters flows

Adown the tide of Time for evermore.

I see the place that no man may explore,

Save him whose Art its life to Genius owes,

On whose rapt lips the sacred cinder glows

That teaches Song’s sweet shibboleth and lore.

Ah, it were heaven to enter in and kneel

In some dim aisle, unnoticed and apart,

With thirsting soul to drink the sounds that shame

My songs to silence; then to rise and feel

That my untutored lips had learnt the art

That seats the singer in the House of Fame!