r you a word," said she, "you must, by all you love best,
tell me one thing truly."

"Upon that adjuration," he replied, "I could not refuse an answer to any
question, though it should cost me my head."

"Well, then, what I want to know is this: are you, perchance, a poet?"

"If I were one, it would certainly be perchance," said the page; "but
you must know, Preciosa, that the name of poet is one which very few
deserve. Thus I am not a poet, but only a lover of poetry; yet for my
own use I do not borrow of others. The verses I gave you were mine, as
are these also which I give you now; but I am not a poet for all
that--God forbid."

"Is it such a bad thing to be a poet?" Preciosa asked.

"It is not a bad thing," he answered; "but to be a poet and nothing else
I do not hold to be very good. We should use poetry like a rich jewel,
the owner of which does not wear it every day, or show it to all people,
but displays it only at suitable times. Poetry is a beautiful maiden,
chaste, honest, discreet, reserved, and never overstepping the limits of
perfect refinement. She is fond of solitude; she finds pleasure and
recreation among fountains, meadows, trees, and flowers; and she
delights and instructs all who are conversant with her."

"I have heard for all that," said Preciosa, "that she is exceedingly
poor; something of a beggar in short."

"It is rather the reverse," said the page, "for there is no poet who is
not rich, since they all live content with their condition; and that is
a piece of philosophy which few understand. But what has moved you,
Preciosa, to make this inquiry?"

"I was moved to it, because, as I believe all poets, or most of them, to
be poor, that crown which you gave me wrapped up with the verses caused
me some surprise; but now that I know that you are not a poet, but only
a lover of poetry, it may be that you are rich, though I doubt it, for
your propensity is likely to make you run through all you have got. It
is a well-known saying, that no poet can either keep or make a fortune."

"But the saying is not applicable to me," said the page. "I make verses,
and I am neither rich nor poor; and without feeling it or making a talk
about it, as the Genoese do of their invitations, I can afford to give a
crown, or even two, to whom I like. Take then, precious pearl, this
second paper, and this second crown enclosed in it, without troubling
yourself with the question whether I am a poet or not. I only