To G. Thorn Drury<br><br>My youth was ever constant to one dream,<br>Though hope failed oft - so hopeless did it seem,<br>That in the ripeness of my days I might<br>Something achieve that should the world requite<br>For my existence; for it was a pain<br>To think that I should live and live in vain:<br>And most my thoughts were turned towards the Muse<br>Though long she did my earnest prayers refuse,<br>And left me darkling and despairing; then<br>By happy chance there came within my ken<br>A hapless poet, whom - I thank kind fate! -<br>It was my privilege to help instate<br>In that proud eminence wherein he shines<br>Now that no more on earth he sadly pines.<br>This was a fortune such as I must ever<br>Be thankful for - yet still 'twas my endeavour,<br>With what, I hope, was no unworthy zeal,<br>My life-work with some other deed to seal,<br>And lo! when such a dream might well seem vain,<br>Propitious fate smiled on me once again,<br>And through the mists of time's close woven pall<br>A glint of light on one dim form did fall,<br>Which, as I gazed more earnestly, became<br>A living soul, discovered by the flame<br>Of glowing inspiration which possessed<br>Even now, as when he lived the poet's breast.