(Mother, bend down, bend close to me your face, I know not what these plots and wars and deferments are for, I know not fruition’s success, but I know that through war and crime your work goes on, and must yet go on.)
Thus by blue Ontario’s shore, While the winds fann’d me and the waves came trooping toward me, I thrill’d with the power’s pulsations, and the charm of my theme was upon me, Till the tissues that held me parted their ties upon me.
And I saw the free souls of poets, The loftiest bards of past ages strode before me, Strange large men, long unwaked, undisclosed, were disclosed to me.