Robert W. Service

Successful Failure

I wonder if successful men
Are always happy?
And do they sing with gusto when
Springtime is sappy?
Although I am of snow—white hair
And nighly mortal,
Each time I sniff the April air
I chortle.
 
I wonder if a millionaire
Jigs with enjoyment,
Having such heaps of time to spare
For daft employment.
For as I dance the Highland Fling
My glee is muckle,
And doping out new songs to sing
I chuckle.
 
I wonder why so soon forgot
Are fame and riches;
Let cottage comfort be my lot
With well—worn britches.
As in a pub a poor unknown,
Brown ale quaffing,
To think of all I’ll never own,—
I’m laughing.

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