AMID these fragments of heroic days When thought met deed with mutual passion's leap, There sits a Fame whose silent trump makes cheap What short-lived rumor of ourselves we raise. They had far other estimate of praise Who stamped the signet of their souls so deep In art and action, and whose memories keep Their height like stars above our misty ways: In this grave presence to record my name Something within me hangs the head and shrinks. Dull were the soul without some joy in fame; Yet here to claim remembrance were, methinks, Like him who, in the desert's awful frame, Notches his cockney initials on the Sphinx. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MERLIN'S PROPHESY by WILLIAM BLAKE SOTTO VOCE; TO EDWARD THOMAS by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE ROCK OF CASHEL by AUBREY DE VERE SOLACE by CLARISSA SCOTT DELANY TWO VARIATIONS ON AN OLD NURSEY RHYME: 2 by EDITH SITWELL SUPER FLUMINA BABYLONIS by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE TO W. HOHENZOLLERN: A PLEA by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE MAGIC MIRROR by HENRY MILLS ALDEN POEM, READ THE SOLDIERS' WELCOME, FRANKLIN, NEW YORK, AUG. 5, 1865 by B. H. BARNES |