I<br><br>Fate<br><br>Delicate omens traced in air<br>To the lone bard true witness bare;<br>Birds with auguries on their wings<br>Chanted undeceiving things<br>Him to beckon, him to warn;<br>Well might then the poet scorn<br>To learn of scribe or courier<br>Hints writ in vaster character;<br>And on his mind, at dawn of day,<br>Soft shadows of the evening lay.<br>For the prevision is allied<br>Unto the thing so signified;<br>Or say, the foresight that awaits<br>Is the same Genius that creates.