Henry Wadsworth Longfellow — Wapentake

Poet! I come to touch thy lance with mine;        &nbsp Not as a knight, who on the listed field        &nbsp Of tourney touched his adversary's shield        &nbsp In token of defiance, but in sign Of homage to the mastery, which is thine,        &nbsp In English song; nor will I keep concealed,        &nbsp And voiceless as a rivulet frost-congealed,        &nbsp My admiration for thy verse divine. Not of the howling dervishes of song,        &nbsp Who craze the brain with their delirious dance,        &nbsp Art thou, O sweet historian of the heart! Therefore to thee the laurel-leaves belong,        &nbsp To thee our love and our allegiance,        &nbsp For thy allegiance to the poet's art.