I may not hope to scale the loftier heights,
Full well I know!
Yet are there foothills with their rare delights,
And slopes below
Whereon a modest singer slight of skill,
And void of art,
May roam, and sing such measures as he will
From out his heart.

About him run the clearly blazoned ways
That still resound
With echoes of the songs that won the bays
Of Poets crowned,
And now and then if he but linger there
His soul may hear
Some note of beauty from those Singers rare
Of Yesteryear!