Classic Poem

Thus I pay the visit
Promised years ago.
Tell me, loyal friend, how is it
There below?

Do these weeds and mullein
Choke each angry mood,
Or increase your hard and sullen
Torpitude?

You who sought distractions
Howsoever base,
Have you learned to love inaction's
Slower pace?

Here, at least, you've found that
You belong to earth;
Dying on the careless ground that
Gave you birth.

Do not let it fret you;
Things are not so drear.
Though the heartless world forget you,
I am here!

I have not forgotten
How you loved the stir;
Black at heart and doubly rotten
Though you are.

So I take my fiddle,
And I roar a stave;
Dancing gaily on the middle
Of your grave.

And I tramp the new wood,
And I shout halloo—
All the lively things that you would
Like to do.

Such regard must cheer you
In your misery,
Although I can scarcely hear you
Thanking me.

But I ask no hands in
Thanks or loud applause;
I am glad to sing and dance in
Such a cause.

Thus I pay the visit
Promised years ago. . . .
Tell, me loyal friend, how is it