Song hath a catalogue of lovely things Thy kind hath oft defiled,--whose spite misleads The world too often!--where the poet reads, As in a fable, of old envyings, Crows, such as thou, which hush the bird that sings, Or kill it with their cawings; thorns and weeds, Such as thyself, 'midst which the wind sows seeds Of flow'rs, these crush before one blossom swings. But here and there the wisdom of a School Unknown to these hath often written down "Fame" in white ink the future hath turned brown; When every beauty, heaped with ridicule, In their ignoble prose, proved their renown, Making each famous--as an ass or fool. _AFTERWORD._ _The old enthusiasms Are dead, quite dead, in me; Dead the aspiring spasms Of art and poesy, That opened magic chasms, Once, of wild mystery, In youth's rich Araby. That opened magic chasms._ _The longing and the care Are mine; and, helplessly, The heartache and despair For what can never be. More than my mortal share Of sad mortality, It seems, God gives to me, More than my mortal share._ _O world! O time! O fate! Remorseless trinity! Let not your wheel abate Its iron rotary!-- Turn round! nor make me wait, Bound to it neck and knee, Hope's final agony!-- Turn round! nor make me wait._ * * * * * Transcriber's note The following changes have been made to the text: Page 25: "beach" changed to "beech". Page 46: "marrige" changed to "marriage". Page 53: "slighest" changed to "slightest".