University of Virginia Library

THE POET AND FATE

Fate.
Singers who charmed the earth are dead:
Why singest thou to-day?

The Poet.
Because the laughing rose is red
And white the scented may,
And new-born golden light is shed
On silver stream and bay.

Fate.
Thou dwellest 'mid a heedless race:
They worship nought but gold.

The Poet.
Yet will I lift a tearless face
Towards Beauty as of old.
Her boons of love, her gifts of grace,
Are won but by the bold.

Fate.
Shelley is dead, and Keats is gone,
And who will lift the lute?

The Poet.
Though these be dead, the same strong sun
Still changes flower to fruit:
The birds' hearts waken, one by one;
So why should I be mute?

Fate.
Sing! who will listen in our time?
The poet lives alone.

The Poet.
Though men reject an idle rhyme,
The song-god knows his own,—
Inspires them with his breath sublime
That they may share his throne.