Out of my heart, one day, I wrote a song,
With my heart's blood imbued,
Instinct with pa**ion, tremulously strong,
With grief subdued;
Breathing a fortitude
Pain-bought.
And one who claimed much love for what I wrought,
Read and considered it,
And spoke:
'Ay, brother,--'t is well writ,
But where's the joke?'