The poem
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 Your thought to starry heights of dream, The poem's yours.