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Poem	Not even if with a wizard force I might Have summoned whomsoever I would name, Should anyone else have come than he who came, Uncalled, to share with me my fire that night; For though I should have said that all was right, Or right enough, nothing had been the same As when I found him there before the flame, Always a welcome and a useful sight. Unfailing and exuberant all the time, Having no gold he paid with golden rhyme, Of older coinage than his old defeat, A debt that like himself was obsolete In Art’s long hazard, where no man may choose Whether he play to win or toil to lose.
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