Classic Poem

Long years ago, at fifteen, maybe less,
How earnestly I loved the Classics then:
Poor as I was, my heart possessed true wealth,
That ache to learn such truths as make good men.

I threw all windows wide upon the world
And climbed high hills to find those truths I sought.
The heights were knobbed with gravemounds
Hundreds and hundreds
Of hundreds and hundreds all brought down to nought.

Thousands of thousands of thousands of years from now
What will a good name count for? Nothing at all
At last I understand earth's oldest wisdom
And laught out loud at that lad who was learning's thrall.