Offers to thee, if thou wilt but bow down
And worship at her feet and bring to her
The goodly offerings of thy soul. I see
Thee grasp the iron pen to write thy name
In everlasting characters upon
The gate of Fame’s fair dome. But stay thy hand!
Ah, take not yet the wreath of Fame, lest thou
Be satisfied with its false glittering
And fail to win a brighter, fairer crown,—
Such crown as Fame’s skilled fingers ne’er have learned