SOME men strut proudly, all purple and gold, Hiding queer deeds 'neath a cloak of good fame; I creep along, braving hunger and cold, To keep my heart stainless as well as my name; So, so, where is the good of it? Some clothe bare Truth in fine garments of words, Fetter her free limbs with cumbersome state: With me, let me sit at the lordliest boards, "I love" means I love, and "I hate" means I hate, But, but, where is the good of it? Some have rich dainties and costly attire, Guests fluttering round them and duns at the door: I crouch alone at my plain board and fire, Enjoy what I pay for and scorn to have more. Yet, yet, where is the good of it? Some gather round them a phalanx of friends, Scattering affection like coin in a crowd; I keep my heart for the few that heaven sends, Where they'll find their names writ when I lie in my shroud. Still, still, where is the good of it? Some toy with love, lightly come, lightly go, A blithe game at hearts, little worth, little cost: -- I staked my whole soul on one desperate throw, A life 'gainst an hour's sport. We played' and I -- lost Ha, ha, such was the good of it! MORAL: ADDED ON HIS DEATH-BED. TURN the Past's mirror backward. Its shadows removed, The dim confused mass becomes softened, sublime: I have worked -- I have felt -- I have lived -- I have loved, And each was a step towards the goal I now climb: Thou, God, Thou sawest the good of it. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVERS' INFINITENESS by JOHN DONNE THE JEWISH CEMETERY AT NEWPORT by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ON THE NEW FORCES OF CONSCIENCE UNDER THE LONG PARLIAMENT by JOHN MILTON THE SOLSEQUIUM by ALEXANDER MONTGOMERIE THE MENAGERIE by WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY |