Vanity / O Henry

A Poet sang so wondrous sweet

That toiling thousands paused and listened long;

So lofty, strong and noble were his themes,

It seemed that strength supernal swayed his song.

He, god-like, chided poor, weak, weeping man,

And bade him dry his foolish, shameful tears;

Taught that each soul on its proud self should lean,

And from that rampart scorn all earth-born fears.

The Poet grovelled on a fresh heaped mound,

Raised o'er the clay of one he'd fondly loved;

And cursed the world, and drenched the sod with tears

And all the flimsy mockery of his precepts proved.