In Fritz Steinmann’s Album

The bad victorious are, the good lie low;
The myrtles are replaced by poplars dry,
Through which the evening breezes loudly sigh,
Bright flashes take the place of silent glow.--
In vain Parnassus’ heights you’ll plough and sow,
Image on image, flower on flower pile high,
In vain you’ll struggle till you’re like to die,
Unless, before the egg is laid, you know
How to cluck-cluck; and, bulls’ horns putting on,
Learn to write sage critiques, both pro and con,
And your own trumpet blow with decent pride.
Write for the mob, not for posterity,
Let blustering noise your poems’ lever be,--
You’ll then be by the public deified.