IN FRENCH FIELDS.
209
THE POET'S APOLOGY FOR HIS SHORT POEMS.
Why, Poet, so brief is your lay?—
Ask rather, as more opportune,
Why love flies so swiftly away,
And wither the roses so soon!
You love a rich chain-work of gold
Set with diamonds, that flash on the view,
I love—oh, much more, to behold
A drop small and humble of dew.
Resplendent with stars are the skies,
But their glory inspires me with fear,
Far dearer to me are bright eyes
In whose depths there trembles a tear.
