Littell's Living Age/Volume 137/Issue 1770/Her Laureate

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I am, indeed, no theme with you for song —
A poet you, yet not for me your praise —
You crowned another woman with your bays,
Lifting your voice to heaven, triumphant, strong,
And fear by future rhymes to do her wrong:
If I should walk beside you in your ways
An echo would pursue us from old days,
And men would say, "He loved once, and for long!
So now without great love he is content,
Since she is dead for whom he used to sing,
And daily needs demand their aliment."
Thus some poor bird who strives with broken wing
To soar, then stoops, strength gone and glad life spent,
To any hand that his scant food will bring.