I sang me a song, a tiny song,
A song that was sweet to my soul,
And set it a-float on the sea of chance
In search of a happy goal.
I said to my song: "Go on, go on
And lodge in a tender spot
Of some human soul where the fires of hate
And selfishness are not."
My song went on but a little space
And hied it back to me;
And fell at my feet in a sorry plight—
The victim of cruelty.
I gazed a moment and quickly saw
Just how it had come about,
A cruel critic had caught my song
And probed the soul of it out.
O, poor indeed is the human mind
(And why was it ever wrought?)
That c
