Wilt pray for me？ They tell me I have Fame； I plead with thee, Sometimes just fold my name In beautiful "Hail Marys"！ And you give me more Than all the world besides. It praises Poets for the well-sung lay； But ah！ it hath forgotten how to pray. It brings to brows of Poets crowns of Pride； Some win such crowns and wear； Give me, instead, a simple little Prayer.——

    The living child of a dead Poet is like a faintly glowing Sanctuary lamp, which sheds its rays in the beautiful Temple whence the great Presence hath departed