I'd rather have my verses win A place in common people's hearts, Who, toiling through the strife and din Of life's great thoroughfares, and marts, May read some line my hand has penned; Some simple verse, not fine, or grand, But what their hearts can understand And hold me henceforth as a friend,-- I'd rather win such quiet fame Than by some fine thought, bolished so But those of learned minds would know, Just what the meaning of my song,-- To have the critics sound my name In high-flown praises, loud and long. I sing not for the critic's ear, But for the masses. If they hear Despite the turmoil, noise, and strife Some least low note that gladdens life, I shall be wholly satisfied, Though critics to the end deride.