To Other Small Verse-Makers

OH, all ye little poet-folk, Untried, enamored of a dream; Ye, having breathed the altar-smoke, And loved a shade, and chased a gleam; —BY FANNIE STEARNS DAVIS

OH, all ye little poet-folk,
Untried, enamored of a dream;
Ye, having breathed the altar-smoke,
And loved a shade, and chased a gleam; —
In face of all the woful things,
The long injustices of Life,
Believing somehow, something sings
Above the sordidness and strife; —
Ye, gallant grapplers with foul Fate,
Let us sing high, then fight. Perchance
Our voice and valor shall be great
As Fate’s unsinging circumstance.
Oh, all ye little poet-folk,
Men say we are but fools of God, —
And yet, Gods breathe the incense-smoke ;
And they are worms that seek the sod.