Fame, fame—thou warrior's wish, thou poet's thought,
Thou bright delusion; like the rainbow thou
Glitterest, yet none may touch thee; thing of naught,
Star-high with heaven's own brightness on thy brow,
Blazoned and glorious I beheld thee grow—
Vision, begone,—for I am none of thine.
Of all that fills my heart and fancy now,
From dull oblivion not one word or line
Wilt thou touch with thy light and render it divine.
Even be it so. I sing not for thy smiles—