I met a man of aspect wise Engaged in catching butterflies. "A gorgeous box-full, friend," quoth I. "Now for what purpose sage and high Didst catch this lovely company?" "That I might have them," answered he. I saw a man with eager eyes In bookstores hunting for a prize Hid in the dim and dusty nooks, -- Some rare, forgotten, worthless books. "What is their use, my friend, to thee?" "That I may have them," answered he. I met a weary, haggard elf Absorbed in reckoning up his pelf; As, so much gain, and so much cost, And so much, so much, so much lost. "What joy from all your golden tide?" "That I may have it," he replied. I met a man of busy hands, With wealth of books and friends and lands, Yet ever seeking some new task Or helpful service. "Friend," I ask, "Why do you toil so ceaselessly?" "That men may have me," answers he. |