The Poet's Delay

IN vain I see the morning rise,
  In vain observe the western blaze,
  Who idly look to other skies,
  Expecting life by other ways.
 
  Amidst such boundless wealth without,
  I only still am poor within,
  The birds have sung their summer out,
  But still my spring does not begin.
 
  Shall I then wait the autumn wind,
  Compelled to seek a milder day,
  And leave no curious nest behind,
  No woods still echoing to my lay?