Why are you laughing, Poet?
I much prefer your sighs.
I myself have just read one of your songs
And tears are biting my eyes.

And why should I not laugh?
I cleaned my heart of its dust,
Swept my spirit clear of its cobwebs,
Gathered them up and thrust
Them from me. And then
Men passing, found the whole,
Called them songs and sang them and exulted.
They thought they had found my soul.


From On a Grey Thread (Will Ransom, 1923) by Elsa Gidlow. This poem is in the public domain.