These are the letters which Endymion wrote      To one he loved in secret and apart,      And now the brawlers of the auction-mart Bargain and bid for each tear-blotted note, Aye! for each separate pulse of passion quote      The merchant’s price! I think they love not art      Who break the crystal of a poet’s heart, That small and sickly eyes may glare or gloat. Is it not said, that many years ago,      In a far Eastern town some soldiers ran      With torches through the midnight, and began To wrangle for mean raiment, and to throw      Dice for the garments of a wretched Man, Not knowing the God’s wonder, or His woe?