And What Have You To Say?

I MIND the days when ladies fair
  Helped on my overcoat,
And tucked the silken handkerchief
  About my precious throat;
They used to see the poet’s soul
  In every song I wrote.

  They pleaded hard, but I had work
  To do, and could not stay
  I used to work the whole night through,
  And what have you to say?

’Twas clever, handsome woman then,
  And I their rising star;
I could not see they worshipped me,
  Because I saw too far.
(’Tis well for one or two, I think,
  That things are as they are.)

  (I used to write for writing’s sake,
  I used to write till day,
  I loved my prose and poetry,
  And what have you to say?)

I guess if one should meet me now
  That she would gasp to think,
She ever knew a thing like me,
  As down the street I slink,
And trembling cadge from some old pal
  The tray-bit for a drink.

  I used to drink with gentlemen
  To pass an hour away:
  I drink long beers in common bars,
  And what have you to say?

But often, in the darkest night
  (And ’tis a wondrous thing)—
When others see the devils dance,
  I hear the angels sing,
And round the drunkard’s lonely bed
  Heaven’s nurses whispering.

  I wrote for Truth and Right alone,
  I wrote from night till day;
  I’ll find a drunken pauper grave,
  And what have you to say?
  Good night!
  Good day!
  My noble friends,
  And what have you to say?