Most joyful let the Poet be; It is through him that all men see. - William Ellery Channing

A wail in the wind is all I hear;
A voice of woe for a lover's loss.

I sing New England, as she lights her fire
In every Prairie's midst; and where the bright
Enchanting stars shine pure through Southern night,
She still is there, the guardian on the tower,
To open for the world a purer hour.

My highway is unfeatured air,
My consorts are the sleepless stars,
And men my giant arms upbear —
My arms unstained and free from scars.