“O,
let me twang my lyre for you,”
Said I to her in times of passion;
I
was a poet, poor but true,
And she a child of wealth and fashion.
She
looked, her ripe, red lips ajar,
Then answered me: (O, may she rue it!)
“You
poets all such liars are
You music has a false ring to it.”
Feb.
17, 1910
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