Failure

1.

There was pathos in the stories when I first became a writer,1

There was music in the verses that came singing from my
heart ;2

But now Pathos frowns repellently whenever I invite her,3

And the music and the verses have agreed, it seems, to part.4

There was pleasure in the prospect of the life that lay before me,5

There was endless satisfaction in the aim and in the deed ;6

But now Pleasure droops her eyelids, and avows that she’ll ignore
me,7

For the work that was “ herself” at first is now a work of
need.8

I had eager expectations of a fame that should be lasting,9

I had earnest aspirations for a high and lofty aim ;10

Never written word should sully, never thought of mine be cast in11

Mould impure, or undeserving of a fair and spotless name.12

But the eager expectations have been baffled and uprooted,13

And the earnest aspirations have been trampled by the crowd14

Of the ever-rushing objects that expediency has mooted,15

Of the oft-recurring “ open” need, and sharper “ unavowed.”16

All the brightest hopes have vanished, all the gloss is off the
story,17

All the pathos is translated now from fiction into fact !18

I have ceased to strive for fortune, I have ceased to dream of
glory,19

For the Fame-compelling power is the one I’ve always lacked.20