The past is like a story I have listened to in dreams That vanished in the glory Of the Morning's early gleams; And -- at my shadow glancing -- I feel a loss of strength, As the Day of Life advancing Leaves it shorn of half its length. But it's all in vain to worry At the rapid race of Time -- And he flies in such a flurry When I trip him with a rhyme, I'll bother him no longer Than to thank you for the thought That "my fame is growing stronger As you really think it ought." And though I fall below it, I might know as much of mirth To live and die a poet Of unacknowledged worth; For Fame is but a vagrant -- Though a loyal one and brave, And his laurels ne'er so fragrant As when scattered o'er the grave. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 2. IN CHURCH by THOMAS HARDY IN HOSPITAL: 4. BEFORE by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY THE FIRST BLUEBIRD by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY THE LAND OF NOD by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON A SLEEPLESS NIGHT by ALFRED AUSTIN |