And fortune forgot to starve and stint,
And the people chose to admire aghast
The book I had eaten dirt to print.
And new friends gathered about me then,
New voices summoned me there and here;
The world went down in my dingy den,
And drew me forth from the pipes and beer.
I took the stamp of my altered lot,
As the sands of the certain seasons ran,
And slowly, whether I would or not,