There are songs enough for the hero
Who dwells on the heights of fame;
I sing of the disappointed--
Those who have missed their aim.
I sing for the breathless runner,
The eager, anxious soul,
Who falls with his strength exhausted
Almost in sight of the goal;
For the hearts that break in silence,
With a sorrow all unknown;
For those who need companions,
Yet walk their way alone.
There are songs enough for the lovers,
Who share love's tender pain.
I sing for the one whose passion
Is given all in vain.
And I know the solar system,
Must somewhere keep in space.
A prize for that spent runner,
Who barely lost the race.
For the plan would be imperfect,
Unless it held some sphere
That paid for the toil and talent
And love that are wasted here.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox