Classic Poem

I.

My bowls were of the purest gold
That mortals' eye could view,
And all the streams that in them roll'd
Were of the brightest hue.
My halls they were the resting place
Of every son of song;
And Wit and Folly there kept pace,
And drove their steeds along.

II.

But Wisdom came one wintry night,
While all were deep in sleep,
And broke each gem and goblet bright,
And flung them in a heap;
She fir'd the pile, and Folly then
From all her dreams awoke,
And she and Wit wept deeply, when
They saw the goblets broke.

III.

But Wit took hold of Folly's hand,
And said, " Why all this fuss?
" Though Wisdom drives us from this land,
" There's still a home for us;
" A home, beneath congenial skies,
" Where all is bright and fair,
" Where Folly lives , but Wisdom dies —
" That home is — we know where . "