Classic Poem

Nurse brings me medicine! Medicine?
For me! God, twenty years old!
Medicine? I'll leave it to thee!
The truth is a draught,
Fondly fought
To agree!

She left me. The tinkling glasses
Lent me her distance.
The hurried call I'll disdain forever!
She shook the pulse
Like Samson the vaults:
Well! I never!

I'm still proud! yes, proud!—
Though charity is aiding me!
This future painter
Does not hinder
What is going on—or shall be!