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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=506341" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Tale</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">(_Epilogue to 'The Two Poets of Croisic.'_)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What a pretty tale you told me<br>Once upon a time<br>--Said you found it somewhere (scold me!)<br>Was it prose or was it rhyme,<br>Greek or Latin? Greek, you said,<br>While your shoulder propped my head.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Anyhow there's no forgetting<br>This much if no more,<br>That a poet (pray, no petting!)<br>Yes, a bard, sir, famed of yore, <br>Went where suchlike used to go,<br>Singing for a prize, you know.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well, he had to sing, nor merely<br>Sing but play the lyre;<br>Playing was important clearly<br>Quite as singing: I desire,<br>Sir, you keep the fact in mind<br>For a purpose that's behind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There stood he, while deep attention<br>Held the judges round, <br>--Judges able, I should mention,<br>To detect the slightest sound<br>Sung or played amiss: such ears<br>Had old judges, it appears!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">None the less he sang out boldly,<br>Played in time and tune,<br>Till the judges, weighing coldly<br>Each note's worth, seemed, late or soon,<br>Sure to smile 'In vain one tries<br>Picking faults out: take the prize!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">When, a mischief! Were they seven<br>Strings the lyre possessed?<br>Oh, and afterwards eleven,<br>Thank you! Well, sir,--who had guessed<br>Such ill luck in store?--it happed<br>One of those same seven strings snapped.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All was lost, then! No! a cricket<br>(What 'cicada'? Pooh!)<br>--Some mad thing that left its thicket<br>For mere love of music--flew <br>With its little heart on fire,<br>Lighted on the crippled lyre.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So that when (Ah joy!) our singer<br>For his truant string<br>Feels with disconcerted finger,<br>What does cricket else but fling<br>Fiery heart forth, sound the note<br>Wanted by the throbbing throat?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ay and, ever to the ending,<br>Cricket chirps at need, <br>Executes the hand's intending,<br>Promptly, perfectly,--indeed<br>Saves the singer from defeat<br>With her chirrup low and sweet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Till, at ending, all the judges<br>Cry with one assent<br>'Take the prize--a prize who grudges<br>Such a voice and instrument?<br>Why, we took your lyre for harp,<br>So it shrilled us forth F sharp!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Did the conqueror spurn the creature<br>Once its service done?<br>That's no such uncommon feature<br>In the case when Music's son<br>Finds his Lotte's power too spent <br>For aiding soul development.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No! This other, on returning<br>Homeward, prize in hand,<br>Satisfied his bosom's yearning:<br>(Sir, I hope you understand!) <br>--Said 'Some record there must be<br>Of this cricket's help to me!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So, he made himself a statue:<br>Marble stood, life size;<br>On the lyre, he pointed at you,<br>Perched his partner in the prize;<br>Never more apart you found<br>Her, he throned, from him, she crowned.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That's the tale: its application?<br>Somebody I know <br>Hopes one day for reputation<br>Thro' his poetry that's--Oh,<br>All so learned and so wise<br>And deserving of a prize!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If he gains one, will some ticket<br>When his statue's built,<br>Tell the gazer ''Twas a cricket<br>Helped my crippled lyre, whose lilt<br>Sweet and low, when strength usurped<br>Softness' place i' the scale, she chirped? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'For as victory was nighest,<br>While I sang and played,--<br>With my lyre at lowest, highest,<br>Right alike,--one string that made<br>'Love' sound soft was snapt in twain<br>Never to be heard again,--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Had not a kind cricket fluttered,<br>Perched upon the place<br>Vacant left, and duly uttered<br>'Love, Love, Love,' whene'er the bass <br>Asked the treble to atone<br>For its somewhat sombre drone.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But you don't know music! Wherefore<br>Keep on casting pearls<br>To a--poet? All I care for<br>Is--to tell him that a girl's<br>'Love' comes aptly in when gruff<br>Grows his singing, (There, enough!)</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Browning">Robert Browning</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=506341" data-title="A Tale de Robert Browning" data-description="(_Epilogue to 'The Two Poets of Croisic.'_)

What a pretty tale you told me
Once upon a time
--Said you found it somewhere (scold me!)
Was it prose or was it rhyme,
Greek or Latin? Greek, you said,
While your shoulder propped my head.

Anyhow ther..."></div>
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