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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342890" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Posterity's Award</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'd long been dead, but I returned to earth.<br>Some small affairs posterity was making<br>A mess of, and I came to see that worth<br>Received its dues. I'd hardly finished waking,<br>The grave-mould still upon me, when my eye<br>Perceived a statue standing straight and high.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas a colossal figure-bronze and gold<br>Nobly designed, in attitude commanding.<br>A toga from its shoulders, fold on fold,<br>Fell to the pedestal on which 'twas standing.<br>Nobility it had and splendid grace,<br>And all it should have had-except a face!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It showed no features: not a trace nor sign<br>Of any eyes or nose could be detected<br>On the smooth oval of its front no line<br>Where sites for mouths are commonly selected.<br>All blank and blind its faulty head it reared.<br>Let this be said: 'twas generously eared.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Seeing these things, I straight began to guess<br>For whom this mighty image was intended.<br>'The head,' I cried, 'is Upton's, and the dress<br>Is Parson Bartlett's own.' True, _his_ cloak ended<br>Flush with his lowest vertebra, but no<br>Sane sculptor ever made a toga so.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then on the pedestal these words I read:<br>'_Erected Eighteen Hundred Ninety-seven_'<br>(Saint Christofer! how fast the time had sped!<br>Of course it naturally does in Heaven)<br>'_To_ --' (here a blank space for the name began)<br>'_The Nineteenth Century's Great Foremost Man_!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'_Completed_' the inscription ended, '_in<br>The Year Three Thousand_'-which was just arriving.<br>By Jove! thought I, 'twould make the founders grin<br>To learn whose fame so long has been surviving<br>To read the name posterity will place<br>In that blank void, and view the finished face.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Even as I gazed, the year Three Thousand came,<br>And then by acclamation all the people<br>Decreed whose was our century's best fame;<br>Then scaffolded the statue like a steeple,<br>To make the likeness; and the name was sunk<br>Deep in the pedestal's metallic trunk.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whose was it? Gentle reader, pray excuse<br>The seeming rudeness, but I can't consent to<br>Be so forehanded with important news.<br>'Twas neither yours nor mine-let that content you.<br>If not, the name I must surrender, which,<br>Upon a dead man's word, was George K. Fitch!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ambrose+Bierce">Ambrose Bierce</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342890" data-title="Posterity's Award de Ambrose Bierce" data-description="I'd long been dead, but I returned to earth.
Some small affairs posterity was making
A mess of, and I came to see that worth
Received its dues. I'd hardly finished waking,
The grave-mould still upon me, when my eye
Perceived a statue standing stra..."></div>
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