human
Sas agapo sas agapo, He sang beneath her lattice.
gpt
she murmured--
human
O, I wonder, now, what _that_ is!
gpt
I love,
human
O father, I saw at the church as I passed The populace gathered in numbers so vast That they couldn't get in; and their voices were low, And they looked as if suffering terrible woe.
gpt
What made it bleed, father, for every day Somebody passes forever away? Do the newspaper men print a column or more Of every person whose troubles are o'er?
human
O, no; they could never do that--and indeed, Though printers might print it, no reader would read. To the sepulcher all, soon or late, must be borne, But 'tis only the Wise and the Good that all mourn.
gpt
That's right, father dear, but how can our eyes Distinguish in dead men the Good and the Wise?
human
That's easy enough to the stupidest mind: They're poor, and in dying leave nothing behind.
gpt
Seest thou in mine eye, father, anything green? And takest thy son for a gaping marine? Go tell thy fine tale of the Wise and the Good Who are poor and lamented to babes in the wood.
human
said the sailor man bold Who had sailed the northern-lakes--
gpt
No woefuler one has ever been told Exceptin' them called 'fakes.'
human
Go on, thou son of the wind and fog, For I burn to know the worst!