Vanity
A poet sang a song so wondrous sweet,
That toiling thousands paused and listened long;
So lofty, strong, and noble were his themes,
It seemed that strength supernal swayed his song.
He, god-like, chided poor, weak, weeping man,
And bade him dry his foolish, shameful tears.
Taught that each soul on its proud self should lean,
And from that rampart scorn all earth-born fears.
The poet groveled on a fresh-heaped mound
Raised o’er the grave of one he fondly loved,
And cursed the world, and drenched the sod with tears,
And all the flimsy mockery of his precepts proved.