A Reed by the River/The Beggar's Harp

by Virginia Woodward Cloud

THE BEGGAR'S HARP

'Love shall live for its own sweet sake,Song shall sing but for song alone,All do they yield and nothing take,Nor claim a part for their own.' . . .

Out the gates in a vagabond way,Love and I find pitiful fare;Mayhap 'tis a crust of yesterday,Or a sound of a voice on the air;

A smile that welcomes another's eyes,The scent of a rose beyond the wall,A rapture that never in words shall riseAnd never in tears shall fall.

' . . . Love shall live, though the star that gleamsCaught in thy tree-top high and bare,Dies in the dark; but the dark hath its dreamsAnd the dreams, the dreams are fair! . . .'

Forth to the night my face is set,And cold are the fingers that strive to play—(. . . The shroud of the dew clings chill and yet,But love is the ember that gloweth yet! . . .)Ay, and though song be forgot in a day,Ay, and though none shall recall or regret,—Singing, I take my way.