Classic Poem

Born a Foe, he sought out foes,
(There are always hosts of those;)
Writing for the grown folks, he
Gained the height of pillory.
Then he sat, Himself before,
Solitary, shipwrecked, poor,
And gave forth his lonely joys
To the fresh hearts of the boys:
Entering there, the world was won, —
All the world knew Robinson!