My poem may be yours
In melody and tone,
If in its rhythm you can readA music of your own;
If in its pale woof you can
Your lovelier design,'Twill make my lyric,
I believe, More yours than mine.
I'm but a prompter at the best;
Crude cues are all I give.
In simple stanzas I suggest -'Tis you who make them live.
My bit of rhyme is but a frame,
And if my lines you quote,
I think, although they bear my name, 'Tis you who wrote.
Yours is the beauty that you
In any words I sing;
The magic and the melody'Tis you, dear friend, who bring.
Yea, by the glory and the gleam,
The loveliness that
Your thought to starry heights of dream, The poem's yours.
