Adult Poetry - Third Place

Not the owly eyne, nor magic genius raised,
Can for one soul devise a wiltless wreath;
Nor by grey Sybil's mysteries amazed
Has then more worth in weight his flowery breath:
Young hands self-tutored touch the Delphic lute
With ease, then sink into a silent bower;
And posied lips soon wither without fruit;
The burnished spirit shall wane in one cold hour;
And life's dread formless shade, blind Death, tell Fame
On earth of all one's thoughts, to spread as wise,
Which loveless known must haunt his rumored name,
As puffed as nought to heaven's holy eyes:
But fadeless fair the meekest heart may be
Who feeds on light no foolish wise can see.