So many worlds, so much to do, So little done, such things to be, How know I what had need of thee? For thou wert strong as thou wert true. The fame is quenched that I forsaw, The head hath missed an earthly wreath: I curse not nature, no, nor death; For nothing is that errs from law. We pass; the path that each man trod Is dim, or will be dim, with weeds: What fame is left for human deeds In endless age? It rests with God. O hollow wraith of dying fame, Fade wholly, while the soul exults, And self-enfolds the large results Of force that would have forged a name. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CHILD'S FIRST GRIEF by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS SOMETHING BEYOND by MARY CLEMMER AMES HUDSON SHERIDAN'S RIDE [DECEMBER 19, 1864] by THOMAS BUCHANAN READ IN THE VALLEY OF CAUTERETZ by ALFRED TENNYSON FEBRUARY THAW by KENNETH SLADE ALLING SAINT MAY: A CITY LYRIC by JOSEPH ASHBY-STERRY THE SOLDIER'S TEAR by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY |