Already, I note, they use this work of mine
And shuffle the old forerunner out of sight.
No matter. Let the truth live. I shall watch
Its progress, proudly, from the outer dark;
More happily, I believe, thus free from self,
Than if my soul went whoring after fame.
One thing alone I’ll claim. It is not good
To let all lies go dancing by on flowers.
This—what’s his name?—who claims to be the first
To find a dead volcano in Auvergne,