THE POET FROM HIS OWN SORROW
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Down with false shame;
Reck not of fame;
Dread not man's spite;
Quench not thy light.
This be thy creed,
This be thy deed:
"Hide not thy heart!"
III
If God is, He made
Sunshine and shade,
Heaven and hell;
This we know well.
Dost thou believe?
Do not deceive;
Scorn not thy faith—
If 't is a wraith,
Soon it will fly.
Thou, who must die,
Hide not thy heart!
IV
This is my creed;
This be my deed:
Faith, or a doubt,
I shall speak out
And hide not my heart.
"THE POET FROM HIS OWN SORROW"
The poet from his own sorrow
Poured forth a love-sad song.
A stranger, on the morrow,
Drew near, with a look of wrong,
