Classic Poem

I as an actor, have played well my part,
Not showing how the sons of men I scorn;
Those shriveled, greedy souls who crave the corn
The oil and wine, the treasures of the mart;
Deep in my soul I burn the flame for Art
As one who was a lyric poet born,
As one who leads a singer's hope forlorn
Yet with unshrinking and unconquered heart.

I can exist on what a Spartan can;
Endure as granite; smile when friends do fail;
Face Poverty, and see the years grow stale
Or bide my time with any sort of man.
Full in the teeth of Fate I fling the glove—
Come age, come death, while I have you my love!