No need to beg, no need to borrow,
Nor fear a penniless tomorrow,
Nor walk with face of blackest omen
To thrill the hearts of stupid foemen,
Who fain my pride to earth would bring,
Because, forsooth, I sweetly sing!

--Ho ho! ere thou art grown much older,
Thy millionaires will all grow colder.
Thou soon shalt be forgotten by them--
They've other things to occupy them!
Just now with thee they're playing kindly,
But fortune's wheel is turning blindly
To grind thy pleasures ere thou know it--
And thou art left to me, my poet!




The Phantom Vessel


Now the last, long rays of sunset
To the tree-tops are ascending,
And the ash-gray evening shadows
Weave themselves around the earth.

On the crest of yonder mountain,
Now are seen from out the distance
Slowly fading crimson traces;