Classic Poem

Well, here's the Book of Fables, done
Whilst I had neither star nor sun,
And little cause, good friends, to jest —
Except one cause, and that the best.
I will explain. Some folks averred
To one another, having heard
That I had gone to Æsoping:
" His grief is but a paltry sting,
Or else he'd have no heart for jokes. "
This world is full of stupid folks:
We mop our eye, we bow our pate,
We squat, or we vociferate,
Or shuffle round with rueful faces,
Alone in amateurish cases,
When certain that by doing so
We'll get some luxury from woe.
Such amateurish cases are:
A broken leg, a family jar,
A house burned down, a jealous throb,
Or being fired from our job.
But in the major griefs and pains
Afflicting homo sapiens,
We lift our heads, our eyes are dry,
We stalk about, and we defy —
We laugh — we laugh! 'Tis no pretense:
Self-preservation and defense
It is indeed. So desperate
In this grim world is now our state
That but one tear were death and date.
A major case? — I still am dumb;
But let that pass: my time shall come!