 | Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
TO ANY DESPONDING GENIUS.
Take this for granted once for all:
There is neither chance nor fate,
And to sit and wait for the sky to fall,
Is to wait as the foolish wait.
There is neither chance nor fate,
And to sit and wait for the sky to fall,
Is to wait as the foolish wait.
128
The laurel, longed for, you must earn—
It is not of the things men lend,
And though the lesson be hard to learn,
The sooner the better, my friend.
It is not of the things men lend,
And though the lesson be hard to learn,
The sooner the better, my friend.
That another's head can have your crown
Is a judgment all untrue,
And to drag this man, or the other down,
Will not in the least raise you!
Is a judgment all untrue,
And to drag this man, or the other down,
Will not in the least raise you!
For, in spite of your demur, or mine,
The gods will still be the gods,
And the spark of genius will outshine
The touchwood, by all odds!
The gods will still be the gods,
And the spark of genius will outshine
The touchwood, by all odds!
Be careful, careful work to do,
Though at cost of heart, or head—
The praises, even of the Review,
Will hardly stand in stead.
Though at cost of heart, or head—
The praises, even of the Review,
Will hardly stand in stead.
No light that through the ages shines
To worthless work belongs—
Men dig in thoughts as they dig in mines,
For the jewels of their songs.
To worthless work belongs—
Men dig in thoughts as they dig in mines,
For the jewels of their songs.
A fresco painter in ceiling wrought,
With eyelids strained, 't is said,
Till he could but read of the fame so bought,
With the page above his head.
With eyelids strained, 't is said,
Till he could but read of the fame so bought,
With the page above his head.
Hold not the world as in debt to you,
When it credits you day by day,
For the light and air, for the rose and dew,
And for all that cheers your way.
When it credits you day by day,
For the light and air, for the rose and dew,
And for all that cheers your way.
129
And you, in turn, as an honest man,
Are bound, you will understand,
To give back either the best you can,
Or to die, and be out of hand.
Are bound, you will understand,
To give back either the best you can,
Or to die, and be out of hand.
| Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |