 | Collected poems |  |
585
PROLOGUE TO “DE LIBRIS”
Lector
Benevole!—for so
They used to call you, years ago,—
I can't pretend to make you read
The pages that to this succeed;
Nor would I, if I could, excuse
The wayward promptings of the Muse,
At whose command I wrote them down.
They used to call you, years ago,—
I can't pretend to make you read
The pages that to this succeed;
Nor would I, if I could, excuse
The wayward promptings of the Muse,
At whose command I wrote them down.
I have no hope to “please the town.”
I did but think some friendly soul
(Not ill-advised, upon the whole!)
Might like them; and—“to interpose
A little ease,”—between the prose,
Slipped in the scraps of verse, that thus
Things might be less monotonous.
I did but think some friendly soul
(Not ill-advised, upon the whole!)
Might like them; and—“to interpose
A little ease,”—between the prose,
Slipped in the scraps of verse, that thus
Things might be less monotonous.
Then, Lector, be Benevolus!
1908.
| Collected poems | |