I'D like to leave behind me some work that will endure, but briny teardrops blind me, the prospect is so poor! Man hates to think of sleeping through ages four or five, with nothing brilliant keeping his memory alive. But there is no foretelling whose fame for aye will stand, or who has built his dwelling upon the shifting sand. The lions we're adoring, the great men of today, whose bright renown goes soaring from Juneau to Cathay, whose voices give direction to all our projects here, may pass from recollection when they've been dead a year. Perchance some humble plodder, who seems to cut no grass, or other kinds of fodder, will, when the ages pass, in people's hearts be living, his fame secure and strong, immortalized for giving the world some simple song. No man can say, "It's certain, as taxes, and as sure, that when Death drops the curtain, my fame will still endure." To make our best endeavor, that is the only way; let fame live on forever, or die in half a day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GUNS AS KEYS: AND THE GREAT GATE SWINGS by AMY LOWELL THE YANKEE PRIVATEER by ARTHUR HALE DELIGHT IN DISORDER by ROBERT HERRICK THE LITTLE TURTLE by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY AFTER DEATH by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI |