Dear Friends, reproach me not for what I do, <br />Nor counsel me, nor pity me; nor say <br />That I am wearing half my life away <br />For bubble-work that only fools pursue. <br />And if my bubbles be too small for you, <br />Blow bigger then your own: the games we play <br />To fill the frittered minutes of a day, <br />Good glasses are to read the spirit through. <br /> <br />And whoso reads may get him some shrewd skill; <br />And some unprofitable scorn resign, <br />To praise the very thing that he deplores; <br />So, friends (dear friends), remember, if you will, <br />The shame I win for singing is all mine, <br />The gold I miss for dreaming is all yours.<br /><br />Edwin Arlington Robinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dear-friends/
