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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508769" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Joy Of Being Poor</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Let others sing of gold and gear, the joy of being rich;<br>But oh, the days when I was poor, a vagrant in a ditch!<br>When every dawn was like a gem, so radiant and rare,<br>And I had but a single coat, and not a single care;<br>When I would feast right royally on bacon, bread and beer,<br>And dig into a stack of hay and doze like any peer;<br>When I would wash beside a brook my solitary shirt,<br>And though it dried upon my back I never took a hurt;<br>When I went romping down the road contemptuous of care,<br>And slapped Adventure on the back -- by Gad! we were a pair;<br>When, though my pockets lacked a coin, and though my coat was old,<br>The largess of the stars was mine, and all the sunset gold;<br>When time was only made for fools, and free as air was I,<br>And hard I hit and hard I lived beneath the open sky;<br>When all the roads were one to me, and each had its allure . . .<br>Ye Gods! these were the happy days, the days when I was poor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or else, again, old pal of mine, do you recall the times<br>You struggled with your storyettes, I wrestled with my rhymes;<br>Oh, we were happy, were we not? -- we used to live so &quot;high&quot;<br>(A little bit of broken roof between us and the sky);<br>Upon the forge of art we toiled with hammer and with tongs;<br>You told me all your rippling yarns, I sang to you my songs.<br>Our hats were frayed, our jackets patched, our boots were down at heel,<br>But oh, the happy men were we, although we lacked a meal.<br>And if I sold a bit of rhyme, or if you placed a tale,<br>What feasts we had of tenderloins and apple-tarts and ale!<br>And yet how often we would dine as cheerful as you please,<br>Beside our little friendly fire on coffee, bread and cheese.<br>We lived upon the ragged edge, and grub was never sure,<br>But oh, these were the happy days, the days when we were poor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Alas! old man, we're wealthy now, it's sad beyond a doubt;<br>We cannot dodge prosperity, success has found us out.<br>Your eye is very dull and drear, my brow is creased with care,<br>We realize how hard it is to be a millionaire.<br>The burden's heavy on our backs -- you're thinking of your rents,<br>I'm worrying if I'll invest in five or six per cents.<br>We've limousines, and marble halls, and flunkeys by the score,<br>We play the part . . . but say, old chap, oh, isn't it a bore?<br>We work like slaves, we eat too much, we put on evening dress;<br>We've everything a man can want, I think . . . but happiness.<br>Come, let us sneak away, old chum; forget that we are rich,<br>And earn an honest appetite, and scratch an honest itch.<br>Let's be two jolly garreteers, up seven flights of stairs,<br>And wear old clothes and just pretend we aren't millionaires;<br>And wonder how we'll pay the rent, and scribble ream on ream,<br>And sup on sausages and tea, and laugh and loaf and dream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when we're tired of that, my friend, oh, you will come with me;<br>And we will seek the sunlit roads that lie beside the sea.<br>We'll know the joy the gipsy knows, the freedom nothing mars,<br>The golden treasure-gates of dawn, the mintage of the stars.<br>We'll smoke our pipes and watch the pot, and feed the crackling fire,<br>And sing like two old jolly boys, and dance to heart's desire;<br>We'll climb the hill and ford the brook and camp upon the moor . . .<br>Old chap, let's haste, I'm mad to taste the Joy of Being Poor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+William+Service">Robert William Service</a><div class=q>
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Let others sing of gold and gear, the joy of being rich;
But oh, the days when I was poor, a vagrant in a ditch!
When every dawn was like a gem, so radiant and rare,
And I had but a single coat, and not a single care;
When I would feast right r..."></div>
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