My poem may be yours indeed

In melody and tone,

If in its rhythm you can read

A music of your own;

If in its pale woof you can weave

Your lovelier design,

‘Twill make my lyric, I believe,

More yours than mine.

I’m but a prompter at the best;

Crude cues are all I give.

In simple stanzas I suggest—

‘Tis you who make them live.

My bit of rhyme is but a frame,

And if my lines you quote,

I think, although they bear my name,

‘Tis you who wrote.

Yours is the beauty that you see

In any words I sing;

The magic and the melody

‘Tis you, dear friend, who bring.

Yea, by the glory and the gleam,

The loveliness that lures.