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 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
I
Friends, beware!
Stop, babbling! Hark, a sound is in the air!
Above the pretty songs of schools
(Not of music made, but rules),
Above the panic rush for gold
And emptinesses manifold,
And selling of the soul for phantom fame,
And reek of praises where there should be blame;
Stop, babbling! Hark, a sound is in the air!
Above the pretty songs of schools
(Not of music made, but rules),
Above the panic rush for gold
And emptinesses manifold,
And selling of the soul for phantom fame,
And reek of praises where there should be blame;
Over the dust and muck,
The buzz and roar of wheels,
Another music steals;
A right, true note is struck.
The buzz and roar of wheels,
Another music steals;
A right, true note is struck.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |