Classic Poem

TO RICHARD HENRY STODDARD, AT THE STODDARD BANQUET BY THE
AUTHORS CLUB, NEW YORK, MARCH 25, 1897

O PRINCELY poet! — kingly heir
Of gifts divinely sent, —
Your own! — nor envy anywhere,
Nor voice of discontent.

Though, of ourselves, all poor are we,
And frail and weak of wing,
Your height is ours — your ecstasy —
Your glory, when you sing.

Most favored of the gods, and great
In gifts beyond our store,
We covet not your rich estate,
But prize our own the more. —

The gods give as but gods may do —
We count our riches thus, —
They gave their richest gifts to you,
And then gave you to us.