(For thou art spiritual, Godly, most of all known to my sense,) Minister to speak to me, here and now, what word has never told, and cannot tell, Art thou not universal concrete’s distillation? Law’s, all Astronomy’s last refinement? Hast thou no soul? Can I not know, identify thee?
An ancient song, reciting, ending, Once gazing toward thee, Mother of All, Musing, seeking themes fitted for thee, Accept for me, thou saidst, the elder ballads, And name for me before thou goest each ancient poet.
(Of many debts incalculable, Haply our New World’s chieftest debt is to old poems.)