Classic Poem

The world is very winning
At the waxing of the moon,
When the harvest is beginning
And the vintage follows soon.
At dawn the day is smiling
But I may not watch it then,
Nor when gloaming is beguiling
Can I rest, nor question when.

With pen and ink and paper,
With ledger, bill and stock,
With starlight of a taper,
And moonface of a clock,
I spend my youth and fulness
In bondage to be free
When half a life of dulness
Has earned a jubilee.

Who cares my life is friendless?
Who cares my heart is tired?
Who cares the hopes are endless
Ambition once has fired?
A thousand hearts are straining
Against the steep incline;
My brothers, we are gaining
Gold from a cruel mine.

Yet we who make it duty
To fight for honest fame,
For truth and art and beauty,
Love, and a crystal name,
Have tokens on the highway
And signs against defeat,
And many a forlorn byeway
Has flowers to make it sweet.

Not hand in hand to conquest,
But singly and alone,
Knights errant in the long quest
Each battles for his own;
But achievement brings us nearer
To the union of the host,
And the victors will be dearer
Who have overcome the most.

The warriors are graver
Than the merry sons of mirth,
But their tender eyes with favour
View the fairness of the earth;
And some summertime hereafter
They will gather in the shade
Where mellow happy laughter
Greets fortune long delayed.

But who can join with justice
In the ease of that far day,
Who toils not where the dust is
On the hot and rugged way?
Ah! suffering is jealous,
But perfect love is kind,
And the victory will tell us
Why destiny seems blind.

What brightens fame in story
Can make the humble great,
And heads are crowned with glory
That bowed in low estate;
Then, brothers, unabated
Be every high desire,
The garlands God has plaited
Are not for those who tire.