Oh, you who read some song that I have sung, What know you of the soul from whence it sprung?
Dost dream the poet ever speaks aloud His secret thought unto the listening crowd?
Go take the murmuring sea-shell from the shore: You have its shape, its color and no more.
It tells not one of those vast mysteries That lie beneath the surface of the seas.
Our songs are shells, cast out by-waves of thought; Here, take them at your pleasure; but think not
You've seen beneath the surface of the waves, Where lie our shipwrecks and our coral caves.
THE POET'S SONG
PREFACE
Among the twelve hundred poems which have emanated from my too prolificpen there are some forty or fifty which treat entirely of that emotionwhich has been denominated "the grand passion"—love. A few of those areof an extremely fiery character.
When I issued my collection known as "Maurine, and Other Poems," Ipurposely omitted all save two or three of these. I had been frequentlyaccused of writing only sentimental verses; and I took pleasure andpride in presenting to the public a volume which contained more than onehundred poems upon other than sentimental topics. But no sooner was thebook published than letters of reg