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