ablaze;Bystanders timidly, breathlessly gaze,
As o’er the keyboard boldly he plays.
— That’s Paderewski.
Vanity
A Poet sang so wondrous sweet
That toiling thousands paused and listened long;
So lofty, strong and noble were his themes,
It seemed that strength supernal swayed his song.
He, god-like, chided poor, weak, weeping man,
And bade him dry his foolish, shameful tears;
Taught that each soul on its proud self should lean,
And from that rampart scorn all earth-born fears.
The Poet grovelled on a fresh heaped mound,
Raised o’er the clay of one he’d fondly loved;
And cursed the world, and drenched the sod with tears
And all the flimsy mockery of his precepts proved.
Collections of Short Stories:
My Tussle With The Devil by O. Henry’s Ghost
Cabbages And Kings
The Proem By The Carpenter
They will tell you in Anchuria, that President Miraflores, of that volatile republic, died by his own hand in the coast town of Coralio; that he had reached
