Classic Poem

( AT HER DÉBUT, OCTOBER 18, 1891)

Fair sister of the Muses, 't is the hour,
Dearest of all, when thou dost wed thy Art.
No bride more radiant a more single heart
Gave to her chosen — and what noble dower!
Graces akin to forest and to flower;
A spirit blithe as dawn; a soul astart;
A nature rich, to keep thee what thou art —
A star of beauty and a flame of power.

Now, while the tranced throng turn each to each
Sharing their joy, think'st thou on those young years
When many a day and night was unbeguiled
Save by this love that lightened toil and tears?
Thy music melts upon the verge of speech;
Fame greets the artist — I, the constant child.