Classic Poem

I wrote a song long years ago
To celebrate another's woe.
No soft voice whispered in my ear,
" Child, thine own fate is written here. "
No prescient thought, o'er-leaping time,
Told me my doom was in that rhyme.
I wept for sorrow at her grief —
Wept — see, upon this faded leaf
The blistering marks of many tears
The paper kept through all these years.
But when I bore this agony,
The current of my tears ran dry.
You see, I shed them long ago,
When my woe was another's woe!