I'd rather have my verses win 
A place in common people's 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, bolished 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.