Fame

What's future fame? — a melody loud playing
In crowds where one is wanting, whose esteeming
Would love to hear it best: — a sun displaying
A solitary glory, whose bright beaming,
Smiling on withered flowers and leaves decaying,
Lingers behind its world: — a crown vain gleaming
Around a shade, whose substance Death hath banished:
A living dream, o'er which Hope once was dreaming:
A busy echo, on each lip delaying,
When he that woke it into life is vanished:
A picture, that from all hearts praise is stealing —
A statue, towering over Glory's game —
That cannot feel; while he that was all feeling
Is past, and gone, and nothing but a name.