Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart,
Volture, whose wings are dull realities?
How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise,
Who wouldst not leave him in his wandreing
To seek for treasure in the jawelled skies,
Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing?
Hast thou not dragget Diana from her car?
And driven the hamadryad wfro the wood
To seek a shelter in some heppier star?
Hast thou not torn the Naiad fro her flood,
The Elfin from the green grass, and from me
The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?
Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)
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