This is foolish talk I know you think, I think it is myself, At least in part. I know I'm right, however, In guessing off the reason of her failure, If failure it is. But pshaw, why talk of failure About a woman born to live the life She lived, which could not have been different, Much different under any circumstance? She might have married, had a home and children, What of it? As it is she makes a story, A flute sound in our symphony--all right! And I confess, in spite of all I've said, The profit, the success, may not be known To any but one's self. Now look at me, By all accounts I am a failure--look! For forty years just making poor ends meet, My love all spent in making good pianos. I thrill all over picking spruce and wires, And putting them together--all my love Gone into this, no head at all for business. I keep no books, they cheat me out of rent. I don't know how to sell pianos, when I sell one I have trouble oftentimes In getting pay for it. But just the same I sit here with myself, I know myself, I've found myself, and when collectors come I can say come to-morrow, turn about, And run the scale, or improvise, and smile, Forget the world! * * * * * The three arose and left. Llewellyn George said: "That's a rarity, That man is like a precious flower you find Way off among the weeds and rocky soil, Grown from a seed blown out of paradise; I want to call again." So thus they knew This much of Elenor Murray's music life. But on a day a party talk at tea, Of Elenor Murray and her singing voice And how she tried to train it--just a riffle Which passed unknown of Merival. For you know Your name may come up in a thousand places At earth's ends, though you live, and do not die And make a great sensation for a day. And all unknown to Merival for good This talk of Lilli Alm and Ludwig Haibt: LILLI ALM In Lola Schaefer's studio in the Tower, Tea being served to painters, poets, singers, Herr Ludwig Haibt, a none too welcome guest, Of vital body, brisk, too loud of voice, And Lilli Alm crossed swords. It came about When Ludwig Haibt said: "Have you read the papers About this Elenor Murray?" And then said: "I tried to train her voice--she was a failure." And Lilli Alm who taught the art of song Looked at him half contemptuous and said: "Why did she fail?" To which Herr Ludwig answered "She tried too hard. She made her throat too tense, And made its muscles stiff by too much thought, Anxiety for song, the vocal triumph."