V.
Would they but speak who proved but weak
To those who think self strong,
How they would cry, continually,
“Beware the first small wrong!”
VI.
To Felix Morris.
Twin arts are ours, to act and write,
And yours, perhaps, the greater is;
You bring the world before men’s sight,
I can but proffer fantasies.
VII.
Flowers are earth’s resurrection, yet the rocks,
Ere raised in blossoms, first shall fall to dust.
Take comfort, then, O brother, when life mocks
Thine aspirations, as perforce life must.
VIII.
Man loves the ideal and not the maid;
Her he but garlands with hopes and dreams,
And worships, not her in those wreaths arrayed,
But the vision of fancy that then she seems.