Classic Poem

Do you not know, my friends, that sometimes here
In this dim room with books along the wall
I entertain another company —
Where no wine gleams, no circled ashes fall?

The merry jests we know — the narratives
Of brave adventure, which we tell to cheer,
When uttered by these other guests of mine
Ring, through their wide smiles, like a falling tear.

Last night they all came in, Ambition, Doubt,
Care with his heavy eyes and broken dream,
Life with his cynic smile and dainty hands,
And Memory, too, with her dear eyes agleam.

Ambition, golden-haired, was all agog;
Doubt sat there moping at the window-pane,
And Memory leaned against my dusty books
And counted her bright treasures o'er again.

I loved Ambition, for he promised me
Great things — green wreaths — a name to belt the world;
I glanced at Life who sat beside the hearth
And saw his cynic lips with laughter curled.

But as the night advanced Ambition left,
And Doubt and Life and Care, those brothers three.
So I sat on, until the dawn came in
Beneath the tears of wondrous Memory.

Do you not know, my comrades, true of heart,
That I pledge other eyes at other times?
That heavy-shouldered Doubt has his own chair
And brave Ambition fires my little rhymes?