Page:Wine and Roses (IA wineroses00dale).pdf/77

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OVER THE VINE
47

With their cargoes; all the money in the mart—
Could purchase for an hour
Such a treasure as the Flower,
As the Flower of Hope that blossomed in my heart.

Now I sit, and smile, and listen
To my friends whose eyes still glisten,
Though their beards are showing threads of silver-grey,
As they talk of Fame and Glory—
The old, old pathetic story—
While they drink "Good luck" to luck that keeps away.

When I hear a politician
Speak of honors and position,
And the time to come when he will sit on high,
Then I feel a sovran pity
For this species of banditti,
Raising trouble while the golden time goes by.

Long ago I did discover
It was fine to be a lover,
But the heartache and the worry spoil the game;
Now I think, like an old vandal,
That the game's not worth the candle—
And I know some other vandals think the same.

And I hate the cant of striving,

Slaving, planning, and contriving,
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