Friend, you have wealth and power, Men go and come at your call, Yours are the whims of the hour— What have you done with it all? I am only a poet Fighting a bitter fight, Fate will not even grant me Leisure in which to write. You said as your thin lips curled: “Money is better than bays.” Battered and bruised by the world! I still have my golden days. You have lost the power to enjoy, You tire of each plaything new, Mine is the heart of a boy; Friend, I am richer than you!SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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