Classic Poem

My Old Arm-Chair

Let poets coin their golden dreams;
Let lovers weave their vernal themes;
And paint the earth all fair.
To me no such bright fancies throng:
I sing a humble hearthstone song,
Of thee, — my old Arm-chair!

Poor — faded — ragged — crazy — old, —
Thou'rt yet worth thrice thy weight in gold;
Ay, though thy back be bare:
For thou hast held a world of worth,
A load of heavenly human earth, —
My old Arm-chair!

Here sate — ah, many a year ago, —
When, young, I nothing cared to know
Of life, or its great aim, —
Friends (gentle hearts) who smiled and shed
Brief sunshine on my boyish head:
At last the wild clouds came, —

And vain desires, and hopes dismayed,
And fears that cast the earth in shade,
My heart did fret;
And dreaming wonders, foul and fair;
And who then filled mine ancient chair,
I now forget.

Then Love came — Love! — without his wings,
Low murmuring here a thousand things
Of one I once thought fair:
'Twas here he laughed, and bound my eyes,
Taking me, boy, by sweet surprise,
Here, — in my own Arm-chair.

How I escaped from that soft pain,
And (nothing lesson'd) fell again
Into another snare,
And how again Fate set me free,
Are secrets 'tween my soul and me, —
Me, and my old Arm-chair.

Years fade: — Old Time doth all he can:
The soft youth hardens into man;
The vapour Fame
Dissolves; Care's scars indent our brow;
Friends fail us in our need: — but Thou
Art still the same.

Thou bring'st calm thoughts; strange dreamings; sleep
And fancies subtle (sometimes deep);
And the unseen Air
Which round thy honoured tatters plays,
Bears with it thoughts of other days,
That quell despair.

Let the world turn, then, — wrong or right;
Let the hired critic spit his spite:
With thee, old friend,
With thee, companion of my heart,
I'll still try on the honest part,
Unto the end!English