TO MY GOOD FRIEND
               W T. H. HOWE

Friend, for the sake of loves we hold in common,
The love of books, of paintings, rhyme and fiction;
And for the sake of that divine affliction,
The love of art, passing the love of woman;-
By which all life's made nobler, superhuman,
Lifting the soul above, and, without friction
Of Time, that puts failure in his prediction,-
Works to some end through hearts that dreams illumine:
To you I pour this Cup of Dreams - a striver,
And dreamer too in this sad world,- unwitting
Of that you do, the help that still assureth,-
Lifts up the heart, struck down by that dark driver,
Despair, who, on Life's pack-horse - effort - sitting,
Rides down Ambition through whom Art endureth.