Poem by Lloyd Mifflin

The Sovereigns

THEY who create rob death of half its stings;
They, from the dim inane and vague opaque
Of nothingness, build with their thought, and make
Enduring entities and beauteous things;
They are the Poets--they give airy wings
To shapes marmorean; or they overtake
The Ideal with the brush, or, soaring, wake
Far in the rolling clouds their glorious strings.
The Poet is the only potentate;
His sceptre reaches o'er remotest zones;
His thought remembered and his golden tones
Shall, in the ears of nations uncreate,
Roll on for ages and reverberate
When Kings are dust beside forgotten thrones. 

1. On the Twilight Headland--Theseus and Ariadne
2. Fiat Lux
3. To a Maple Seed
4. Theseus and Ariadne
5. He Made the Night

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