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A Collection of Poems. By Ernest Radford

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INTROSPECTION
  
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34

INTROSPECTION

Through weary hours I've pondered o'er
A something which to write upon;
I've lain in frenzy on the floor,
And striven to let my fancy soar,
And nothing can I light upon!
Now shall I write in prose or verse?
Or whereunto my powers bring?
Shall I in tragic vein rehearse
A mother's grief, a father's curse?
Or tender tale nore softly sing?
Or shall I examine my mind
With the night-light of ‘Introspection’?
And then, having made from its innermost part
(Where some have a lumber-room, others a heart),
Of personal failings selection,

35

Explain to the world in the cleverest novels
How the normal mind abnormally grovels.
The world of to-day wants ‘knowledge of self’—
The old true poets are all on the shelf;
And he may aspire to bays
Who gives to the world without any apology,
In metre, a volume of simple psychology.
I hope that it will not be long
Ere man knows enough of himself,
And seeks something better in song.
And yet, till the rage passes over,
A poet may live in clover,
And I willingly join the throng.—
‘Man, know thyself!’
All ye who are groping in college or school,
For love or for glory or pelf,
Henceforward must follow a different rule:
('Tis well for a man to know he's a fool)
Ineffable bathos! Study ‘thyself.’

36

'Tis not from his books, 'tis not from his friends
(Thank God!), nor his paltriest neighbour,
That a man will secure these desirable ends—
This ‘knowledge of life’ that makes ample amends
For the life that is lost in the labour.
Then turn from thy friends: shun Poetry, Art;—
Be vain disputations avoided;
Examine, dear reader, thine innermost part;
And soon you will think you have fathomed your heart,
And know that you haven't enjoyed it.