Gentlest of critics, does your memory hold (I know it does) a record of the days When I, a schoolboy, earned your generous praise For halting verse and stories crudely told? Over these childish scrawls the years have rolled, They might not know the world's unfriendly gaze; But still your smile shines down familiar ways, Touches my words and turns their dross to gold. More dear to-day than in that vanished time Comes your nigh praise to make me proud and strong. In my poor notes you hear Love's splendid chime, So unto you does this, my work belong. Take, then, a little gift of fragile rhyme: Your heart will change it to authentic song. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ABANDONED RANCH, BIG BEND by HAYDEN CARRUTH AGAINST THE REST OF THE YEAR by JAMES GALVIN MY MOTHER, 1930 by KAREN SWENSON TO HIS SON, VINCENT CORBET, ON HIS THIRD BIRTHDAY by RICHARD CORBET OLD FOLKS AT HOME by STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER PRINCE ALDFRITH'S ITINERARY THROUGH IRELAND by ALDFRITH |