To One Who Sighed

You cannot sing ?  Well, others can.
You do not dance ? but others do.
And ever since the world began
There have been certain folk like you
Who cannot dance, and cannot sing,
Nor weave a play nor write a book.

But you can sew ? Most anything ?
And are quite expert as a cook ?
And you can draw a little bit,
Amuse your friends with pen and ink?
You make folk laugh—this you admit.
You have a lot of gifts, I think.

Oh, foolish one, to sigh and fret
Because you're not as some folk are.
Suppose a plant, of mignonette
Withered because 'twas not a star!
Be what you are, dear girl, with pride.
Accept your limits with good grace ;

The world is varied, very wide;
For each of us there is a place.
Within your sphere be quite content,
Be proud of work that is your own,
And to life's complex instrument
With sweetness add your mite of tone.