Page:Rosemary and Pansies.djvu/41

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But here the tangle grew too great
To hope for its untying:
I woke and found both him and me
Upon the sofa lying.

(That "lying" comment doth invite,
And 'tis indeed suggestive,
But I'm not fibbing—honour bright!
Nor had I been too festive.)

'Tis usual when a fable's told
With a moral to equip it;
So I my moral will unfold
For you to read—or skip it.

Most men, departing from the rôles
Nature for them intended,
Have wandered widely from their goals,
And to worse things descended.

So, in a sense, they lose themselves
(They may or may not know it)
And go about—poor witless elves—
Like your bewildered poet.

Few are the lucky folk whose lines
Are cast in places pleasant
On whom benignant fortune shines
With lustre ever crescent.

Alas! of these I am not one,
But spend my life in groping
After a path and finding none,
Yet always vainly hoping.

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