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Robert W Service - The Bohemian
Work rating: Low

Up in my garret bleak and bare
I tilted back on my broken chair,
And my three old pals were with me there,
        Hunger and Thirst and Cold;
Hunger scowled at his scurvy mate:
Cold cowered down by the hollow grate,
And I hated them with a deadly hate
        As old as life is old.

So up in my garret that`s near the sky
I smiled a smile that was thin and dry:
"You`ve roomed with me twenty year," said I,
         "Hunger and Thirst and Cold;
But now, begone down the broken stair!
I`ve suffered enough of your spite . . . so there!"
Bang! Bang! I slapped on the table bare
        A glittering heap of gold.

"Red flames will jewel my wine to-night;
I`ll loose my belt that you`ve lugged so tight;
Ha! Ha! Dame Fortune is smiling bright;
        The stuff of my brain I`ve sold;
Canaille of the gutter, up! Away!
You`ve battened on me for a bitter-long day;
But I`m driving you forth, and forever and aye,
        Hunger and Thirst and Cold."

So I kicked them out with a scornful roar;
Yet, oh, they turned at the garret door;
Quietly there they spoke once more:
        "The tale is not all told.
It`s au revoir, but it`s not good-by;
We`re yours, old chap, till the day you die;
Laugh on, you fool! Oh, you`ll never defy
        Hunger and Thirst and Cold."
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