Joel Benton (1832–1911)

THE POET’S words are winged with fire,

Forever young is his desire,—

Touched by some charm the gods impart,

Time writes no wrinkles on his heart.

The messenger and priest of truth,

His thought breathes of immortal youth;

Though summer hours are far away,

Midsummer haunts him day by day.

The harsh fates do not chill his soul,—

For him all streams of splendor roll;

Sweet hints come to him from the sky,—

Birds teach him wisdom as they fly.

He gathers good in all he meets,

The fields pour out for him their sweets;

Life is excess; one sunset’s glow

Gives him a bliss no others know.

Beauty to him is Paradise—

He never tires of lustrous eyes;

Quaffing his joy, the world apart,

Love lives a summer in his heart.

His lands are never bought or sold—

His wealth is more to him than gold;

On the green hills, when life is done,

He sleeps like fair Endymion.