Life said to the soul of the poet—
'Of the gifts I can offer to thee,
Thou hast turned from them all, and taken
A touch of sweet melody.
'Thine is the choice and thine only,
The joy and shadow it brings,
For by singing comes the sorrow
That is heard through human things.
'But I cannot give thee the laurel,
I can only inspire thy song;
And stand by thy side in battles
On the fields of right and wrong.
'Another than I must crown thee,
He must by thee be unseen,
Thou shalt only hear his whispers,
And thy heart shall know what they mean.
'Thou shalt see a brighter sunshine
Resting on wood and field;
And also a deeper shadow
With the fears that it may yield.
'In thy breast shall be the longing
For that which can never be known;
And the sorrows that fall on thy fellows
Shall be lighter than thine own.
'Thou shalt have to wrestle with passions
Far deeper and stronger than theirs;
If thou fallest thine is the burden
And the deep, long shame that it bears.
'Thou shalt ever be inly haunted,
As the low-winds haunt the trees,
With life and its wonderful changes,
And its endless mysteries.
'And ghostly feet shall follow,
To be heard of the inner ear,
Thine own, wherever they wander,
And none but thyself shall hear.'