Youth and Art

It once might have been, once only: We lodged in a street together, You, a sparrow on the housetop lonely, I, a lone she-bird of his feather. Your trade was with sticks and clay, You thumbed, thrust, patted, and polished, Then laughed "They will see some day, Smith made, and Gibson demolished." My business was song, song, song; I chirped, cheeped, trilled, and twittered, "Kate Brown's on the boards ere long, And Grisi's existence embittered!"…