 | [Poems by Woolson in] Constance Fenimore Woolson |  |
ALAS!
“Prithee, what wouldst thou advise?”
Spake the timid poet;
Then slow answered all the wise
“Hadst thou skill to show it,
Vivid story of thy life,
Pains and joyance, good and ill,
Strongly sung would bring thee fame,
For the world is curious still.”
Then the poet sadly
Away did pass,
“But there is no story
In my simple life. Alas! Alas!”
Spake the timid poet;
Then slow answered all the wise
“Hadst thou skill to show it,
Vivid story of thy life,
Pains and joyance, good and ill,
Strongly sung would bring thee fame,
For the world is curious still.”
Then the poet sadly
Away did pass,
“But there is no story
In my simple life. Alas! Alas!”
496
“Prithee, what wouldst thou advise?”
Spake the poet, turning
Once again that way; the wise
Answered, “all the burning
Of thy inmost altar-fires
Sing in glowing, cadenced verse;
To the world's hot eager ear
All thy deepest love rehearse.”
Then the poet sadly
Away did pass,
“But my heart I cannot
Share with all the world. Alas! Alas!”
Spake the poet, turning
Once again that way; the wise
Answered, “all the burning
Of thy inmost altar-fires
Sing in glowing, cadenced verse;
To the world's hot eager ear
All thy deepest love rehearse.”
Then the poet sadly
Away did pass,
“But my heart I cannot
Share with all the world. Alas! Alas!”
Constance Fenimore Woolson.
| [Poems by Woolson in] Constance Fenimore Woolson | |