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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416607" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Fame</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Once, in a dream, I saw a man<br>With haggard face and tangled hair,<br>And eyes that nursed as wild a care<br>As gaunt Starvation ever can;<br>And in his hand he held a wand<br>Whose magic touch gave life and thought<br>Unto a form his fancy wrought<br>And robed with coloring so grand,<br>It seemed the reflex of some child<br>Of Heaven, fair and undefiled--<br>A face of purity and love--<br>To woo him into worlds above:<br>And as I gazed with dazzled eyes,<br>A gleaming smile lit up his lips<br>As his bright soul from its eclipse<br>Went flashing into Paradise.<br>Then tardy Fame came through the door<br>And found a picture--nothing more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And once I saw a man, alone,<br>In abject poverty, with hand<br>Uplifted o'er a block of stone<br>That took a shape at his command<br>And smiled upon him, fair and good--<br>A perfect work of womanhood,<br>Save that the eyes might never weep,<br>Nor weary hands be crossed in sleep,<br>Nor hair that fell from crown to wrist,<br>Be brushed away, caressed and kissed.<br>And as in awe I gazed on her,<br>I saw the sculptor's chisel fall--<br>I saw him sink, without a moan,<br>Sink lifeless at the feet of stone,<br>And lie there like a worshiper.<br>Fame crossed the threshold of the hall,<br>And found a statue--that was all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And once I saw a man who drew<br>A gloom about him like a cloak,<br>And wandered aimlessly. The few<br>Who spoke of him at all, but spoke<br>Disparagingly of a mind<br>The Fates had faultily designed:<br>Too indolent for modern times--<br>Too fanciful, and full of whims--<br>For, talking to himself in rhymes,<br>And scrawling never-heard-of hymns,<br>The idle life to which he clung<br>Was worthless as the songs he sung!<br>I saw him, in my vision, filled<br>With rapture o'er a spray of bloom<br>The wind threw in his lonely room;<br>And of the sweet perfume it spilled<br>He drank to drunkenness, and flung<br>His long hair back, and laughed and sung<br>And clapped his hands as children do<br>At fairy tales they listen to,<br>While from his flying quill there dripped<br>Such music on his manuscript<br>That he who listens to the words<br>May close his eyes and dream the birds<br>Are twittering on every hand<br>A language he can understand.<br>He journeyed on through life, unknown,<br>Without one friend to call his own;<br>He tired. No kindly hand to press<br>The cooling touch of tenderness<br>Upon his burning brow, nor lift<br>To his parched lips God's freest gift--<br>No sympathetic sob or sigh<br>Of trembling lips--no sorrowing eye<br>Looked out through tears to see him die.<br>And Fame her greenest laurels brought<br>To crown a head that heeded not.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And this is Fame! A thing, indeed,<br>That only comes when least the need:<br>The wisest minds of every age<br>The book of life from page to page<br>Have searched in vain; each lesson conned<br>Will promise it the page beyond--<br>Until the last, when dusk of night<br>Falls over it, and reason's light<br>Is smothered by that unknown friend<br>Who signs his nom de plume, The End</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Whitcomb+Riley">James Whitcomb Riley</a><div class=q>
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Once, in a dream, I saw a man
With haggard face and tangled hair,
And eyes that nursed as wild a care
As gaunt Starvation ever can;
And in his hand he held a wand
Whose magic touch gave life and thought
Unto a form his fancy wrought
And robed w..."></div>
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