THE WONDROUS SONG

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I LONGED to sing a wondrous song,
So wondrous, ’twould compel
The admiration unreserved
Of one and all as well.
My pen I took in hand and strove
The magic words to write,
Alas! I could not of my Muse
Inspiration invite.
She would not humor, tho’ I begged
Persistently and long
For the right metre—the right thought,
To best set down my song.
’Twas stately phrase I coveted,
The Laurel I would court—
That of the world’s acknowledgment
Of unsurpass´ed thought.
At length disheartened, my appeal
Knew, but to be denied,
I rose and to the window moved,
And marked the scene outside.
All quiet stretched the land before,
Enwrapt in the soft haze
Which with such rare enchantment clothes
Autumn’s initial days.
Idly my glance the expanse swept
Till it came to where lay
Outside the gate, the winding road
Leading to far-away.
Then with the moment light was mine—
Yet not complex its thought,
The inspiration which appealed
Was diff’rent, from that sought.
The winding road—the simple theme—
They who followed after—
The toll it wrested of sad tears,
For short dole of laughter.
The tranquil ways bidden farewell,
To seek of its unrest,
The truth alas! too oft brought home,
The paths forsook, were best.
Could I but so compose a lay,
That one who heard might pause,
Nor continue to sacrifice
In an unrighteous cause.
And keep his soul tho’ it should be
By cruelest conflict wrung,
I need not further supplicate—
My wondrous song were sung.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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