Classic Poem

The poet hath no fear of death,
Nor any fear of life;
The poet with his honey breath
Doth drown the strains of strife;
And only when his muse is near
The poet trembles — not with fear.

The poet hath no fear of man,
Nor any fear of hell;
His soldier-soul doth boldly plan
To conquer, to excel;
But when his worshipped muse is near
The poet trembles — not with fear.