Care is a Poet fine: <br />He works in shade or shine, <br />And leaves, you know his sign! <br />No day without its line. <br /> <br />He writes with iron pen <br />Upon the brows of men; <br />Faint lines at first, and then <br />He scores them in again. <br /> <br />His touch at first is light <br />On Beauty's brow of white; <br />The old churl loves to write <br />On foreheads broad and bright. <br /> <br />A line for young love crossed, <br />A line for fair hopes lost <br />In an untimely frost, <br />A line that means Thou Wast. <br /> <br />Then deeper script appears: <br />The furrows of dim fears, <br />The traces of old tears, <br />The tide-marks of the years. <br /> <br />To him with sight made strong <br />By suffering and wrong, <br />The brows of all the throng <br />Are eloquent with song.<br /><br />Victor Daley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-poet-care-2/
