 | The single hound : poems of a lifetime |  |
6
[IV. Fame is a fickle food]
Fame is a fickle foodUpon a shifting plate,
Whose table once a Guest, but not
The second time, is set.
Whose crumbs the crows inspect,
And with ironic caw
Flap past it to the Farmer's corn;
Men eat of it and die.
| The single hound : poems of a lifetime | |