On a Spiteful Letter.

Here, it is here—the close of the year,1
And with it a spiteful letter.2
My fame in song has done him much wrong,3
For himself has done much better.4
O foolish bard, is your lot so hard,5
If men neglect your pages ?6
I think not much of yours or of mine :7
I hear the roll of the ages.8
This fallen leaf, isn’t fame as brief ?9
My rhymes may have been the stronger.10
Yet hate me not, but abide your lot :11
I last but a moment longer,12
O faded leaf, isn’t fame as brief ?13
What room is here for a hater ?14
Yet the yellow leaf hates the greener leaf,15
For it hangs one moment later.16
Greater than I—isn’t that your cry ?17
And I shall live to see it.18
Well, if it be so, so it is, you know ;19
And if it be so—so be it !20
O summer leaf, isn’t life as brief ?21
But this is the time of hollies.22
And my heart, my heart is an evergreen :23
I hate the spites and the follies.24