Flow on my verse though barren thou mayest be
Of thought—Yet sing & let thy fancys roll
In Early days thou sweept a mighty sea
All calm in troublous deeps & spurned controul
Thou fire & iceberg to an aching soul
& still an angel in my gloomy way
Far better opiate then the draining bowl
Still sing my muse to drive cares fiends away
Nor heed what loitering listener hears the lay
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