96
Poems
Still for his love my yearning heart doth ache,—
Father of Heaven, I pray grant it to me!"
Father of Heaven, I pray grant it to me!"
And what says he, when from his swelling heart,
A wish springs upward on the wings of prayer?
"Oh, grant me name and fame, dear God, I pray,
For nothing else of all Thy gifts I care!
Oh, life is very short to work my will,
And hard the task,—how hard,—to win a name!
Take gold, take youth, take love, ambition, friends!
I prize them not, I only ask for fame!"
A wish springs upward on the wings of prayer?
"Oh, grant me name and fame, dear God, I pray,
For nothing else of all Thy gifts I care!
Oh, life is very short to work my will,
And hard the task,—how hard,—to win a name!
Take gold, take youth, take love, ambition, friends!
I prize them not, I only ask for fame!"
And she would, listening, silent press a hand
Above the tender heart his words made bleed,
Then kneel beside him like a faithful dog,
Who knows, through sympathy, his master's need.
Above the tender heart his words made bleed,
Then kneel beside him like a faithful dog,
Who knows, through sympathy, his master's need.
One day, within the studio,
They laughed and sang, in merry mood,
And, "Dear," he said, "in this sweet hour,
I think I could paint something good.
They laughed and sang, in merry mood,
And, "Dear," he said, "in this sweet hour,
I think I could paint something good.
Be thine the thought,—from thy sweet soul
Let it spring forth, a part of thee,
Let it spring forth, a part of thee,
