the evening rose

Nobel Prize

Friends grieve my fate, say “Poet so great
Should try for Nobel Prize.”
But says my muse, “Don’t tend such views
I’ll take leave otherwise.”

My muse is all my life and soul
My wealth which none can measure
I cannot miss her heavenly bliss
For all of the world’s treasure

No prize as great could give me fate
As what my writing brings
A poet is not so soon forgot
As rich men, lords and kings

Why should I pray for a mould of clay?
Living high up in the skies
Your views well-wisher,
have brought more pleasure
Than getting the Nobel Prize.

Feb. 09