Classic Poem

Once an artless maiden,
Fair and sweet,
Knelt too low, they say,
At an idol's feet —
Just the usual idol
Made of the usual clay,
That went to dust entirely
In the usual way.

Alas and alas for a maiden
Put to scorn!
All soiled with the dust of her idol,
And left forlorn!
But in the dust she found
A jewel one day —
A jewel of wondrous beauty,
So they say.

Then she sang: " Now little I care
For the World so cruel; —
O what were the world to me
Without my jewel!
For this — ah, this is the heart
Of my idol of clay!
And I'll keep it and love it forever —
Whatever they say! "