Pine, Rose and Fleur de Lis

by Susie Frances Harrison


 

A PLEA


For the Idle Singers of an Empty Day.


Not by us the seed
       Sown—we only tend it;
Not by us the gift
       Bought—we only send it;
Not by us the flowers
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       Plucked—we only fling them;
Not our own the songs,
       But the way we sing them.

Though all blossoms grew
       Cheap—we still should miss them;

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Though some gifts appear
       Poor—we often kiss them;
Though the seeds my look
       Small—we cannot spare them;
Though our songs be slight,
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       Shall the world not share them?

Now should Fate be kind,
       Cause us to inherit
Sweet access of Fame,
       Based on others’ merit,

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Hear us now confess,
       As to-day we bring them,
Not our own the songs,
       But the way we sing them.