THE wind is without there and howls in the trees, <br />And the rain-flurries drum on the glass: <br />Alone by the fireside with elbows on knees <br />I can number the hours as they pass. <br />Yet now, when to cheer me the crickets begin, <br />And my pipe is just happily lit, <br />Believe me, my friend, tho' the evening draws in, <br />That not all uncontested I sit. <br /> <br />Alone, did I say? O no, nowise alone <br />With the Past sitting warm on my knee, <br />To gossip of days that are over and gone, <br />But still charming to her and to me. <br />With much to be glad of and much to deplore, <br />Yet, as these days with those we compare, <br />Believe me, my friend, tho' the sorrows seem more <br />They are somehow more easy to bear. <br /> <br />And thou, faded Future, uncertain and frail, <br />As I cherish thy light in each draught, <br />His lamp is not more to the miner - their sail <br />Is not more to the crew on the raft. <br />For Hope can make feeble ones earnest and brave, <br />And, as forth thro' the years I look on, <br />Believe me, my friend, between this and the grave, <br />I see wonderful things to be done. <br /> <br />To do or to try; and, believe me, my friend, <br />If the call should come early for me, <br />I can leave these foundations uprooted, and tend <br />For some new city over the sea. <br />To do or to try; and if failure be mine, <br />And if Fortune go cross to my plan, <br />Believe me, my friend, tho' I mourn the design <br />I shall never lament for the man.<br /><br />Robert Louis Stevenson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wind-is-without-there-and-howls-in-the-trees/
