Page:New poems and variant readings, Stevenson, 1918.djvu/106

86 Believe me, granny, altogether

Yours, though perhaps to your surprise.

Oft have you spruced my wounded feather,

Oft brought a light into my eyes—

For notice still the writer cries.

In any civil age or nation,

The book that is not talked of dies.

So that shall be my termination:

Whether in praise or execration,

Still, if you love me, criticise!

FAREWELL