AFTER-KNOWLEDGE
YOU found my soul an untried instrument.
I closed it fast and bade you take the key,
Serene in my unquestioning content
That you alone could wake the harmony.
I gave the key, indifferent though it cost
Familiar lightness of unskilful touch,
The music to the master. If I lost,
He lets the little go who profits much.
Ah, then the keen, reluctant knowledge grew
That though the chords were helpless at your will
You had nor wit nor power to sound them true:
Discordant they, or else forever still.
TWO SPENDTHRIFT KINGS
These tawny sheaves, this fragrant land,
Two spendthrift kings have found and seized,
And Vagabondia may demand
Its pockets lined, its troubles eased.
We hold or deed as fancy wills.
We own the world by right and law—
The hidden gold in all the hills,
The sweetness in a yellow straw.