miscellaneous poems.
73
TO THE AUTHOR OF "A NEW READING OF OLD SONGS."
Dear Illustrator of old rhymes,
Thou mindest me of ancient times,
When you and I together
Roved, seeking butterflies and flowers—
Despising damp—forgetting hours—
With hearts light as a feather.
Thou mindest me of ancient times,
When you and I together
Roved, seeking butterflies and flowers—
Despising damp—forgetting hours—
With hearts light as a feather.
Now, we have toils and cares and troubles;
Yet, still, time finds us blowing bubbles,
And spreading nets and cages:
You read old songs another way,
And well and quaintly do you play
The gamut of mirth's pages.
Yet, still, time finds us blowing bubbles,
And spreading nets and cages:
You read old songs another way,
And well and quaintly do you play
The gamut of mirth's pages.
I, though not blue, nor deeply read,
Have rashly dared the muse to wed,—
Forgetful of the penance:
An empty purse to those who've sung,
An attic, high as Haman hung:—
What care I for the menace!
Have rashly dared the muse to wed,—
Forgetful of the penance:
An empty purse to those who've sung,
An attic, high as Haman hung:—
What care I for the menace!
