Silent Gift.

Thou half-way up the long steep hill of Fame ;1
I at its foot, obscure, well-nigh unknown,2
Having no home, no wealth, to call my own,3
Seeing life’s toil stretch on through years the same4
What could I give that now thou canst not claim ?5
The love of friends, loud praise’s stirring tone,6
Success in work—while I who stand alone7
Look up, but dare not speak for very shame.8
Yet to myself I whisper soft and low,9
Something I, too, could bring, his life to bless,10
A gift whose sweetness none shall ever know,11
Because none other may the shrine possess12
That holds the treasure—but a woman’s heart13
A little thing !  Yet of all things apart.14