His chosen comrades thought at school
He must grow a famous man;
He thought the same and lived by rule,
All his twenties crammed with toil;
“i(What then?” sang Plato’s ghost. “What then?”)
Everything he wrote was read,
After certain years he won
Sufficient money for his need,
Friends that have been friends indeed;
“i(What then?” sang Plato’s ghost. ” What then?”)
All his happier dreams came true —
A small old house, wife, daughter, son,
Grounds where plum and cabbage grew,
poets and Wits about him drew;
“i(What then.?” sang Plato’s ghost. “What then?”)
The work is done,” grown old he thought,
“According to my boyish plan;
Let the fools rage, I swerved in naught,
Something to perfection brought”;
i(But louder sang that ghost, “What then?”)
