Though Critics Deride

In a pile of musty forgotten books left to me by my grandmother, I discovered this gem:

I'd rather have my verses win

A place in common peoples' 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, polished 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.

"Poems of Reflection" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Copyright 1905 M. A. Donohue & Co.