Will H. Hendrickson, "Selfishness" (1907)
Gone are the roses that blossomed
While the withered buds remain,
Greedily hugging their sweetness
Till the very thought gives pain.
Gone are the souls that blossomed,
While the withered buds remain
Eagerly grasping life's blessings,
Nor giving them back again.
What to the world is the flower
That fills not the air with its scent?
What to the world is the creature
Whose life for himself is spent?
Published in Colored American Magazine, April 1907