L'Envoi - Ballads of a Bohemian

We've finished up the filthy war;      We've won what we were fighting for . . .      (Or have we? I don't know).      But anyway I have my wish:      I'm back upon the old Boul' Mich',      And how my heart's aglow!      Though in my coat's an empty sleeve,      Ah! do not think I ever grieve      (The pension for it, I believe,      Will keep me on the go).      So I'll be free to write and write,      And give my soul to sheer delight,      Till joy is almost pain;      To stand aloof and watch the throng,      And worship youth and sing my song      Of faith and hope again;      To seek for beauty everywhere,      To make each day a living prayer      That life may not be vain.      To sing of things that comfort me,      The joy in mother-eyes, the glee      Of little ones at play;      The blessed gentleness of trees,      Of old men dreaming at their ease      Soft afternoons away;      Of violets and swallows' wings,      Of wondrous, ordinary things      In words of every day.      To rhyme of rich and rainy nights,      When like a legion leap the lights      And take the town with gold;      Of taverns quaint where poets dream,      Of cafes gaudily agleam,      And vice that's overbold;      Of crystal shimmer, silver sheen,      Of soft and soothing nicotine,      Of wine that's rich and old,      Of gutters, chimney-tops and stars,      Of apple-carts and motor-cars,      The sordid and sublime;      Of wealth and misery that meet      In every great and little street,      Of glory and of grime;      Of all the living tide that flows -      From princes down to puppet shows -      I'll make my humble rhyme.      So if you like the sort of thing      Of which I also like to sing,      Just give my stuff a look;      And if you don't, no harm is done -      In writing it I've had my fun;      Good luck to you and every one -      And so              Here ends my book.