Page:Ethel Churchill Fragments II.pdf/24



Oh, what a waste of feeling and of thought Have been the imprints on my roll of life! What worthless hours! to what use have I turned The golden gifts which are my hope and pride! My power of song, unto how base a use Has it been put! with its pure ore I made An idol, living only on the breath Of idol worshippers. Alas! that ever Praise should have been what praise has been to me— The opiate of the mind!