Threadbare his songs seem now, to lettered ken: They were worn threadbare next the hearts of men.
Too long, that some may rest, tired millions toil unblest.
The thirst to know and understand a large and liberal discontent.
God, eldest of Poets.
On from room to room I stray,Yet mine Host can ne'er espy,And I know not to this day,Whether guest or captive I.
Empires dissolve and peoples disappear, song passes not away.