Slowly I smoke and hug my knee, <br />The while a witless masquerade <br />Of things that only children see <br />Floats in a mist of light and shade: <br />They pass, a flimsy cavalcade, <br />And with a weak, remindful glow, <br />The falling embers break and fade, <br />As one by one the phantoms go. <br /> <br />Then, with a melancholy glee <br />To think where once my fancy strayed, <br />I muse on what the years may be <br />Whose coming tales are all unsaid, <br />Till tongs and shovel, snugly laid <br />Within their shadowed niches, grow <br /> <br />By grim degrees to pick and spade, <br />As one by one the phantoms go. <br /> <br />But then, what though the mystic Three <br />Around me ply their merry trade? -- <br />And Charon soon may carry me <br />Across the gloomy Stygian glade? -- <br /> <br />Be up, my soul! nor be afraid <br />Of what some unborn year may show; <br />But mind your human debts are paid, <br />As one by one the phantoms go. <br /> <br />ENVOY <br /> <br />Life is the game that must be played: <br />This truth at least, good friend, we know; <br />So live and laugh, nor be dismayed <br />As one by one the phantoms go.<br /><br />Edwin Arlington Robinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ballad-by-the-fire/
