What Is A Modern Poet's Fate? /

Dear Bells! How Sweet The Sound Of Village Bells When On The Undulating Air They Swim!

Tis Like The Birthday Of The World, When Earth Was Born In Bloom; The Light Is Made Of Many Dyes, The Air Is All Perfume: There's Crimson Buds, And White And Blue, The Very Rainbow Showers Have Turned To Blossoms Where They Fell, And Sown The Earth With Flowers.

O Men With Sisters Dear, O Men With Mothers And Wives, It Is Not Linen You 're Wearing Out, But Human Creatures' Lives!

With Fingers Weary And Worn, With Eyelids Heavy And Red, A Woman Sat In Unwomanly Rags, Plying Her Needle And Thread.

Alas For The Rarity Of Christian Charity Under The Sun!