"That I have paid for being calm Is what you see, if you have eyes; For let a man be calm too long, He pays for much before he dies. "Be calm when you are growing old And you have nothing else to do; Pour not the wine of life too thin If water means the death of you. "You say I might have learned at home The truth in season to be strong? Not so; I took the wine of life Too thin, and I was calm too long. "Like others who are strong too late, For me there was no going back; For I had found another speed, And I was on the other track. "God knows how far I might have gone Or what there might have been to see; But my speed had a sudden end, And here you have the end of me." The end or not, it may be now But little farther from the truth To say those worn satiric eyes Had something of immortal youth. He may among the millions here Be one; or he may, quite as well, Be gone to find again the Tree Of Knowledge, out of which he fell. He may be near us, dreaming yet Of unrepented rouge and coral; Or in a grave without a name May be as far off as a moral. Bewick Finzer Time was when his half million drew The breath of six per cent; But soon the worm of what-was-not Fed hard on his content; And something crumbled in his brain When his half million went. Time passed, and filled along with his The place of many more; Time came, and hardly one of us Had credence to restore, From what appeared one day, the man Whom we had known before. The broken voice, the withered neck, The coat worn out with care, The cleanliness of indigence, The brilliance of despair, The fond imponderable dreams Of affluence,--all were there. Poor Finzer, with his dreams and schemes, Fares hard now in the race, With heart and eye that have a task When he looks in the face Of one who might so easily Have been in Finzer's place. He comes unfailing for the loan We give and then forget; He comes, and probably for years Will he be coming yet,-- Familiar as an old mistake, And futile as regret. Bokardo Well, Bokardo, here we are; Make yourself at home. Look around--you haven't far To look--and why be dumb? Not the place that used to be, Not so many things to see; But there's room for you and me. And you--you've come. Talk a little; or, if not, Show me with a sign Why it was that you forgot What was yours and mine. Friends, I gather, are small things In an age when coins are kings; Even at that, one hardly flings Friends before swine.