Black Beetles in Amber - читать онлайн бесплатно полную версию книги . Страница 137

TO EITHER

Back further than I know, in SanFrancisco dwelt a wealthy man. So rich was he That none could beWise, good and great in like degree. 'Tis true he wrought, In deed or thought,But few of all the things he ought; But men said: "Who Would wish him to?Great souls are born to be, not do!" One thing, indeed, He did, we read,Which was becoming, all agreed: Grown provident, Ere life was spentHe built a mighty monument. For longer than I know, in SanFrancisco lived a beggar man; And when in bed They found him dead—"Just like the scamp!" the people said. He died, they say, On the same dayHis wealthy neighbor passed away. What matters it When beggars quitTheir beats? I answer: Not a bit. They got a spade And pick and madeA hole, and there the chap was laid. "He asked for bread," 'Twas neatly said:"He'll get not even a stone instead." The years rolled round: His humble moundSank to the level of the ground; And men forgot That the bare spotWas like (and was) the beggar's lot. Forgotten, too, Was t'other, whoHad reared the monument to woo Inconstant Fame, Though still his nameShouted in granite just the same. That name, I swear, They both did bearThe beggar and the millionaire. That lofty tomb, Then, honored—whom?For argument here's ample room. I'll not debate, But only stateThe scamp first claimed it at the Gate. St. Peter, proud To serve him, bowedAnd showed him to the softest cloud.