Classic Poem

Malek, the counsel of thine amity
I slight not, kindly tendered, but rejoice
To hear or praise or censure from thy voice
Both for thy sake, and hers, whose spirit in thee
Indwelleth ever, starlike Poesy!
Woe, if I pass the temple of her choice
With reckless step, or th' unexpressive joys
Disdain of fancy, pure to song, and free!
Yet deem not thou thy friend of early days
So lost to high emprize: trust me, his soul
Sleeps not the dreamless sleep, which thou art fearing.
No! still on lights the love of noble praise,
His pilgrim bark, like a clear star appearing:
And oh, how bright that beam, where storm-waves roll!