Written by
Robert William Service |
Said Brown: 'I can't afford to die
For I have bought annuity,
And every day of living I
Have money coming in to me:
While others toil to make their bread
I make mine by not being dead.'
Said Jones: 'I can't afford to die,
For I have books and books to write.
I do not care for pelf but I
Would versify my visions bright;
Emotions noble in my breast
By worthy words should be expressed.'
Said Smith: 'I can't afford to die,
Because my life is kindly planned;
So many on my care rely,
For comfort and a helping hand.
Too many weak ones need me so,
And will be woeful when I go.'
Then Death appraisingly looked down,
Saying: 'Your time's up, Mister Brown.
And I am sorry, Mister Jones,
The earth is ready for your bones.
Friend Smith, although you're overdue
Your lease of living we'll renew . . .
Both fame and fortune far above,
What matters in the end is--Love.'
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Written by
Robert William Service |
Oh, I was born a lyric babe
(That last word is a bore -
It's only rhyme is astrolabe,"
Whose meaning I ignore.)
From cradlehood I lisped in numbers,
Made jingles even in my slumbers.
Said Ma: "He'll be a bard, I know it."
Said Pa: "let's hoe he will outgrow it."
Alas! I never did and so
A dreamer and a drone was I,
Who persevered in want and woe
His misery to versify.
Yea, I was doomed to be a failure
(Old Browning rhymes that last with "pale lure"):
And even starving in the gutter,
My macaronics I would utter.
Then in a poor, cheap book I crammed,
And to the public maw I tossed
My bitter Dirges of the Damned,
My Lyrics of the Lost.
"Let carping critic flay and flout
My Ditties of the Down and Out -
"There now," said I, "I've done with verse,
My love, my weakness and my curse."
Then lo! (As I would fain believe,
Before they crown, the fates would shame us)
I went to sleep one bitter eve,
And woke to find that I was famous. . . .
And so the sunny sequels were a
Gay villa on the Riviera,
A bank account, a limousine, a
Life patterned dolce e divina.
Oh, yes, my lyric flight is flighty;
My muse is much more mite than mighty:
But poetry has been my friend,
And rhyming's saved me in the end.
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