 | The lost pleiad ; and other poems |  |
THE POET'S LOVE OF FAME.
“Fame is the thirst of youth.”—
Byron.
Byron.
It is not that my soul is vain of praise,
That it would drink of that joy-giving stream;
But feels undying wants within to raise
Some monument which others may esteem.
I love the sympathies of other minds—
Not that my soul is needy of mere praise—
I am not poor for friends—but something binds
My spirit sighing to the after-days.
That it would drink of that joy-giving stream;
But feels undying wants within to raise
Some monument which others may esteem.
I love the sympathies of other minds—
Not that my soul is needy of mere praise—
I am not poor for friends—but something binds
My spirit sighing to the after-days.
I cannot call it any thing but love—
A longing in our souls to never die—
To be with men as we shall be above,
Clad in the robes of immortality.
If this is vanity, God made me so,
And placed it in the centre of my soul—
From which all thought proceeds—this wish doth grow—
Strong as the lightning's flash—the thunder's roll!
A longing in our souls to never die—
To be with men as we shall be above,
Clad in the robes of immortality.
If this is vanity, God made me so,
And placed it in the centre of my soul—
From which all thought proceeds—this wish doth grow—
Strong as the lightning's flash—the thunder's roll!
If not in life my soul your praise can have,
It is an idle breath flung on the air;
I care not for your plaudits in the grave—
What good were they? my soul will not be there!
And if men are to be what they have been,
Though more exalted, in that world above,
Let me, on earth, while living, have from men,
What, being dead, will show our former love.
It is an idle breath flung on the air;
I care not for your plaudits in the grave—
What good were they? my soul will not be there!
And if men are to be what they have been,
Though more exalted, in that world above,
Let me, on earth, while living, have from men,
What, being dead, will show our former love.
But, though, within our mortal, we can see
Nothing which looks immortal to our sight;
Behind that veil there is what makes us be,
And without which we soon would be all night.
And as Man's natural body lives on earth,
With earthly things—seen with our natural eyes—
Our spiritual bodies shall, when we go forth,
Be seen by spiritual ones, where nothing dies.
Nothing which looks immortal to our sight;
Behind that veil there is what makes us be,
And without which we soon would be all night.
And as Man's natural body lives on earth,
With earthly things—seen with our natural eyes—
Our spiritual bodies shall, when we go forth,
Be seen by spiritual ones, where nothing dies.
Then, we shall see all things as they are seen
On earth, with eyes no mortal sun can dim;
And be in Heaven as we have ever been,
Like man, though subject not to death like him.
And if we carry with us all we have
Of knowledge here below, or happiness;
The more we have of each, this side the grave,
The richer will we be in heavenly bliss.
On earth, with eyes no mortal sun can dim;
And be in Heaven as we have ever been,
Like man, though subject not to death like him.
And if we carry with us all we have
Of knowledge here below, or happiness;
The more we have of each, this side the grave,
The richer will we be in heavenly bliss.
New York, April 1st, 1841.
| The lost pleiad ; and other poems | |