Page:The town down the river; a book of poems.djvu/122

 Told of his own deceit
 * By many a tongue,

Flayed for his long defeat
 * By being young,

Lured by the fateful sweet
 * Of songs unsung—

Knowing it in his heart,
 * But knowing not

The secret of an art
 * That few forgot,

He played the twinkling part
 * That was his lot.

And when the twinkle died,
 * As twinkles do,

He pushed himself aside
 * And out of view:

Out with the wind and tide,
 * Before we knew.