Classic Poem

I told him he would soon be dead.
“I have seen all the pictures,” said
My patient. “And I do not care.”
What could a doctor do but stare
In admiration half amused
Because the fearless fellow used
“The pictures” as a metaphor,
And was the first to use it for
Life which he could no longer feel
But only see it as a reel?
Was he not right to be resigned
To the sad wisdom of his mind?
Who wants to live when Life's a sight
Shut from the inner senses quite;
When listless heart and cynic mind
Are closed within a callous rind;
When April with its secret green
Is felt no more but only seen;
And Summer with its dusky meadows
Is no more than a play of shadows;
And Autumn's garish oriflamme
Fades like a flickering skiagram;
And all one's friends are gone, or seem
Shadows of dream beyond a dream?
And woman's love not any mo,
Oh, surely then 'tis time to go
And join the shades that make the Show!