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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=508349" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Futility</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=508349" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Dusting my books I spent a busy day:<br>Not ancient toes, time-hallowed and unread,<br>but modern volumes, classics in their way,<br>whose makers now are numbered with the dead;<br>Men of a generation more than mine,<br>With whom I tattled, battled and drank wine. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=508349" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I worshipped them, rejoiced in their success,<br>Grudging them not the gold that goes with fame.<br>I thought them near-immortal, I confess,<br>And naught could dim the glory of each name.<br>How I perused their pages with delight! . . .<br>To-day I peer with sadness in my sight. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=508349" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">For, death has pricked each to a flat balloon.<br>A score of years have gone, they're clean forgot.<br>Who would have visioned such a dreary doom?<br>By God! I'd like to burn the blasted lot.<br>Only, old books are mighty hard to burn:<br>They char, they flicker and their pages turn. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=508349" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And as you stand to poke them in the flame,<br>You see a living line that stabs the heart.<br>Brave writing that! It seems a cursed shame<br>That to a bonfire it should play it's part.<br>Poor book! You're crying, and you're not alone:<br>Some day someone will surely burn my own. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=508349" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">No, I will dust my books and put them by,<br>Yet never look into their leaves again;<br>For scarce a soul remembers them save I,<br>Re-reading them would only give me pain.<br>So I will sigh, and say with curling lip:<br>Futility! Thy name is authorship.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Robert+William+Service">Robert William Service</a></strong></div>

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