To an Unknown Poet

“Love is enough,” I read somewhere;
Lines some poor poet in his pride
And poverty wrote on the air
To ease his heart, and soothe his bride.

Something in me, child of an age
Cold to the core, undeified,
Warmed to my brother bard, this sage;
And I too leaned upon my pride.

But pride I found can blind our eyes,
And poverty is worse than pride.
Love’s breed from both is a nest of lies;
And singer of sweet songs, you lied.