Neglected Genius by Eliza Craven Green

Guardian Angel
No! not in vain has heaven bestowed
The gift of poesy,
Tho' all unhonor'd be thy lyre
By earthly praise or fee.
Humble and rude perchance thy lot,
Unmark'd, unknown thy name,
And songs that thrill thy secret heart,
Perish without their fame.
And thou may'st struggle with the world,
Amid the common throng,
And bear uncheer'd the common lot
Of toil, and grief, and wrong.
No heart may echo back thy thoughts,
No ear regard thy lay,
And all thy bright aspirings fade
With life itself away.
But deep within thy soul is hid
A talisman divine;
The jewelled Orient cannot boast
A treasure like to thine,—
A ray of that immortal light
Which sinless Eden knew,
Has left its glory on thy heart,
Its visions to imbue.
The spirit of the Beautiful
Is smiling by thy side,
An angel pilgrim evermore,
The Poet's steps to guide.
A cloud, a pebble, or a leaf,
Aye, even the simplest weed,
Seems blent with marvel and with joy
No other eye can heed.
Link'd with each bright intelligence
That haunts us though unseen,
Thy thoughts sublimed and purified
Spring from the rude—the mean
And sordid thralls of earth, to share
A transport undefin'd,
Snatched like Promethean light from heaven,
The sovereignty of mind.
Then chafe not, fret not, that thy lays
Die on the common ear,
Their music has an echo heard
Within a brighter sphere:
The unheeded wild flowers idly crush'd
Amid the vernal rain,
Give up their perfume to His throne
Who form'd them not in vain;
And not one pure or glorious thought
The Poet's heart may frame,
But is an incense-offering 
To the Eternal NAME!