Make-Believes
When I was young and well and glad,
I used to play at being sad;
Now youth and health are fled away,
At being glad I sometimes play.
A Coincidence
Every critic in the town
Runs the minor poet down;
Every critic—don’t you know it?
Is himself a minor poet.
Art’s Discipline
Long since I came into the school of Art,
A child in works, but not a child in heart.
Slowly I learn, by her instruction mild,
To be in works a man, in heart a child.