Preface to Maurine And Other Poems

I step across the mystic border-land,     And look upon the wonder-world of Art.     How beautiful, how beautiful its hills!     And all its valleys, how surpassing fair!     The winding paths that lead up to the heights     Are polished by the footsteps of the great.     The mountain-peaks stand very near to God:     The chosen few whose feet have trod thereon     Have talked with Him, and with the angels walked.     Here are no sounds of discord - no profane     Or senseless gossip of unworthy things -     Only the songs of chisels and of pens.     Of busy brushes, and ecstatic strains     Of souls surcharged with music most divine.     Here is no idle sorrow, no poor grief     For any day or object left behind -     For time is counted precious, and herein     Is such complete abandonment of Self     That tears turn into rainbows, and enhance     The beauty of the land where all is fair.     Awed and afraid, I cross the border-land.     Oh, who am I, that I dare enter here     Where the great artists of the world have trod -     The genius-crowned aristocrats of Earth?     Only the singer of a little song;     Yet loving Art with such a mighty love     I hold it greater to have won a place     Just on the fair land's edge, to make my grave,     Than in the outer world of greed and gain     To sit upon a royal throne and reign.