Oblivious of the world—its wo or joy—
I lived for song, and dreamed of budding bays!
I thought when I was dead, if not before—
(I hoped before!)—to have a noble name
To leave my eager foot-prints on the shore
And rear my statue in the halls of Fame!—
I pondered o’er the Poets dead of old,
Their memories living in the minds of men;—
I knew they were but men of mortal mould,
They won their crowns, and I might win again.