Page:Poems of Sentiment and Imagination.djvu/93

Rh Feel no shame that thou hast been

Gentle to the erring one,

That the soul once dark with sin

Fairer 'neath thy smile hath grown.

TO ONE WHO BADE ME "GO WIN A NAME."

Poet! whose prophetic numbers

Seem to point me to a name,

Know that in my bosom slumbers

Every pulse that wakes to fame.

Themes like mine are not for glory!

Thoughts like mine win feeble praise;

Mine is not the classic story,

Mine are not scholastic lays.

Not from tome of art or learning

Came the spark of sacred fire;

But the heart within me burning,

Formed itself into a lyre.

And among its frail shreds ever

Spirit-voices whisper low—

Spirit-voices which are never

Echoed in this world below.

Mind may be renowned for ages,

Reason rear her altar high,

But the heart's more humble pages

Live unread, and darkened die.