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Arthur Guiterman
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'Great king,' the poet cried, his rebec stringing,
'Thy name shall live forever- through my singing!'
'Poor fool,' the king replied, 'that lie is hoary;
Thy songs may live- because they chant my glory!'
So each, the sword or lyre glorifying,
In turn proclaimed his work alone undying;
And while their wordy warfare shook the rafter,
Old Time stood by and held his sides for laughter!
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