I thank you, friends, if I may call you so,
For all your welcome greetings here to- night;
Each kindly hand hath set my heart aglow,
Each smile hath shown me that the world is bright.
It is with striving that my art shall gain
A hold upon your sympathetic heart;
This mimic life is not portrayed in vain
If earnest action prove the perfect part.
.mw-parser-output .wst-rule{background-color:currentcolor;color:inherit;width:auto;margin:2px auto 2px auto;height:1px;overflow:hidden}.mw-parser-output .wst-rule.wst-rule-left{margin-left:0}.mw-parser-output .wst-rule.wst-rule-right{margin-right:0}.mw-parser-output .wst-rule.__uirule{background-color:#a2a9b1;color:inherit;border:0;margin-top:0.2em;margin-bottom:0.2em}
He was not there! Ah! God in pity pray
Hush all this noisy clamor—send me rest!
I want no praises—care not what they say,—
I would but lay my head upon his breast.
Ah! Fame is ever passionless and cold,
And shining, starlike, seems so far above,
It chills my soul like unto death bells tolled,
For all is lost to me without his love!