Poesy. Poem by William Billington

As the bud is to the bee,
Or the blossom to the tree,
As the summer to the woods,
Or the fountain to the floods,
Or as Heaven is to the soul,
Its beginning, guide and goal,
So is Poesy to my heart's Passion-Story!
Though a star, in woven vest
Veils the beauty of her breast,
Where Love's burning Heart is set
In Thought's brightest jewels, yet,
Like a Palace of sweet Dreams,
Her unshrouded forehead beams
Love and beauty, truth and grandeur, grace and glory.

As a flower that is kissed
Into blushes by the mist
Of the morning, while the streams
Of Apollo's golden beams,
That are struggling and would nest
In its dewdrop jewell'd breast,
Cannot enter for the close-enveiling vapour,
So the Heaven within her eye-
Haloed by a spirit-sky,
Formed by Purity and Youth,
Joy and Sorrow, Love and Truth,
Which her golden guard compose-
As an altar-flame aye glows,
At which Hope in vain attempts to light his taper.

As the wind does with the cloud,
Or as Custom with the crowd,
As the King does with the court,
Or as Death with life doth sport,
As yon sovereign orb the Sun
Rules the rest which round him run,
Dispensing warmth and lustre, life and motion,
So her beauty o'er my soul
Hath a limitless control;
And her image from my heart
Never-never can depart,
But will burn and brighten there
'Neath the billows of Despair,
Like a pearl within the purple heart of Ocean.

Though I woo her for my wife,
To be dowered with my life,
Yet when Hope, o'ercoming Fear,
Leads the lovely Vision near-
When the Glory I would clasp,
Fate flings Ruin in my grasp,
And Death bids me lean on his scythe and slumber!
Yet Death, perchance, but seems,
And his slumbers may be dreams;
When the spirit, freed from clay,
Through Eternity shall stray,
Then the passions that on earth
In his bosom sprang to birth
May increase his pangs beyond the sea-sands' number.

Then let me live, nor sleep,
But a life-long vigil keep,
Nor ever turn mine eyes
From that blooming Paradise,
Which in Pleasure's lap was lost,
Till the burning marl be crossed
Of Toil and Woe, whereby Hope may regain it!
And if the God that made me
With approving smile will aid me,
All the seasons as they roll
Shall add vigour to my soul,
And the close of every year
See the gleaming goal more near-
Fame's pinion cannot fail if Faith sustain it!