Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By Charles LotinHildreth1271 To an Obscure Poet Who Lives on My Hearth
W
When I draw near?
Has mankind done thee any wrong,
That thou shouldst fear?
So wild and shy,
’T would seem thou know’st the ways of men
As well as I.
When all thy kind—
Poor minstrel folk—at every door
Might welcome find;
To every breast,
And current coin that bought from men
Food, fire, and rest;
More coldly just:
I doubt thy rustic virelays
Would earn a crust.
For many sing,
And he who would be heard must strike
Life’s loudest string.
With slender tone,
Art type of many a singer sealed
To die unknown.
Songs sweet to hear,
Could passion give itself a tongue
To catch the ear.
For thou and I
Are brothers in adversity,—
Both poor and shy.
Is but to live,
Thy little share of food and fire
I freely give.
And forest streams,
Till thy rapt invocation stills
My troubled dreams.