Classic Poem

I KNEW him for a picaroon
Among the purlieus of the town:
At free lunch in a beer saloon
To wash the cheese and pickles down,
With pretzels hard and salt and brown,
We drank and talked of all our schemes
To banish Fortune's chronic frown:
He was a fine fellow of dreams.

He loved the light, piquant details
Of life beyond mere livelihood;
And while he covered many trails
More tricks he played and girls he wooed
And bottles emptied than he should
For that success the World esteems:
But after a fashion he made good:
He was a fine fellow of dreams.

Because I heard his death to-night
Told in the hotel corridor
I left the crowd for the cool starlight
And the lone ways: my heart was sore
That I should see his face no more
Where the wheel turns, and the light gleams,
And the air reels to the World's uproar:
He was a fine fellow of dreams.

My friend he was and he died too soon:
'Tis always too soon for his like it seems:
But he lived while he lived, that picaroon—
He was a fine fellow of dreams.