Poor are the gifts of the poet-- Nothing but words! The gifts of kings are gold, Silver, and flocks and herds, Garments of strange soft silk, Feathers of wonderful birds, Jewels and precious stones, And horses white as the milk-- These are the gifts of kings: But the gifts that the poet brings Are nothing but words. Forty thousand words! Take them--a gift of flies! Words that should have been birds, Words that should have been flowers, Words that should have been stars In the eternal skies. Forty thousand words! Forty thousand tears-- All out of two sad eyes.…
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