@3Amala.@1 O give not up the promise of your time For me: for what? an evanescent woman, A rose-leaf scarce unfolded ere it falls. Your days Should be a wood of laurels evergreen: Seek glory! @3Athulf.@1 Glory! To be sung to tuneless harps! A picture, and a name; to live for death! Seek glory? Never. The world's gossip Fame Is busy in the market-place, the change, At court or wrangling senate, noting down Him of the fattest purse, the fabulous crest, The tongue right honied or most poisonous. If Glory goes among the bristling spears, Which war is mowing down; or walks the wave, When Fate weighs kingdoms in their battle-fleets; Or watches the still student at his work, Reading the laws of nature in the heavens, Or earth's minutest creature; she may find me: If not, I am contented with oblivion, As all the other millions. My sweet fair, One little word of confidence and love, From lips beloved, thrilleth more my heart Than brightest trumpet-touch of statued Fame. My bird of Paradise, tell me some news Of your own home. @3Amala.@1 My home should be your heart: What shall I tell of that? @3Athulf.@1 Can you not see? Surely the love that burns before thy image, As sunny as a burning diamond, Must shed its light without. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOLES BORED IN A WORKBAG BY THE SCISSORS by MARIANNE MOORE MAPLE AND SUMACH by CECIL DAY LEWIS SIXTY-EIGHTH BIRTHDAY by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL AN ELEGY: TO AN OLD BEAUTY by THOMAS PARNELL BOSTON by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON EPITAPH ON CHARLES II by JOHN WILMOT AN EARNEST SUIT [TO HIS UNKIND MISTRESS NOT TO FORESAKE HIM] by THOMAS WYATT |