On the Burning of My Papers
All, all is lost! The waves of fire fought
In rooms where they had flared contained before,
With bitter blade in battle, and blazing roar
Engulfed my work; it transformed all to naught
That in the thirsty swords of flame were caught.
As I contemplate poems mine, now no more,
Forgot midst ashes, burning at my core
Fester these thoughts of fame unclaimed. Distraught
Out cries my muse, “O Miser! Pinch not hope
As one does coin. Be not wounded, but write:
Your labours yet still more your mind contain.
Make known, a brighter world beneath your scope
Lies than can flame diminish. Pen to light
The change from ‘All is lost!’ to all regained.
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