'Bubble-Work That Only Fools Pursue'

The least we ask of a friend is that he not become meddlesome. Granted, it’s a fine line. Where does caring end and meddling begin? At roughly the point presumption replaces true concern. The prerequisite for friendship is respect. There’s nothing respectful about presuming to know what’s best for another person and feeling hurt when your precious counseling is dismissed or ignored. In “Dear Friends" (The Children of the Night, 1897), Edwin Arlington Robinson answers those who would tell him to give up his vocation, his reason for being:

 

“Dear friends, reproach me not for what I do,

Nor counsel me, nor pity me; nor say

That I am wearing half my life away

For bubble-work that only fools pursue.

And if my bubbles be too small for you,

Blow bigger then your own: the games we play

To fill the frittered minutes of a day,

Good glasses are to read the spirit through.

 

“And whoso reads may get him some shrewd skill;

And some unprofitable scorn resign,

To praise the very thing that he deplores;

So, friends (dear friends), remember, if you will,

The shame I win for singing is all mine,

The gold I miss for dreaming is all yours.”