‘I was sick with the Nay of life—
With my lonely soul’s refrain!’”
“What is that you are quoting?” asked Mrs. Channing.
“It’s from a poem I wrote,” said Corydon.
“Oh, you write poetry?”
“I couldn’t say that,” was the reply. “I have no technique—I never studied anything about it.”
“But you try sometimes?”
“I find it helps me,” said Corydon—“once in a great while I find lines in my mind; and I put them together, so that I can say them over, and remind myself of things.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Channing. “Tell me the poem you quoted.”
“I—I don’t believe you’d think much of it,” said Corydon, hesitating. “I never expected anybody—
“I’d be interested to hear it,” declared her visitor.