And often there a wit or jester, And learned how sore it is to pester. She loves the addlest headed dandy. Her Epic is a piece of candy. THE POET AND THE WORLD THE POET AND THE WORLD [Pg 36] THE GUERDON THE GUERDON [Pg 37] A SONG A SONG With a burning sun behind it? With a dream to bind it— Forgetting to find it. That wakens the fancy that hears it? Whose heaven enspheres it— Forgetting to pierce it. That gambols as careless as Maytime? Acalling it daytime—
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