Poetry Archives

I hold it one of the sad certain laws
Which makes our failures sometime seem more kind
Than that success which brings sure loss behind—
True greatness dies, when sounds the world’s applause
Fame blights the object it would bless, because
   Weighed down with men’s expectancy, the mind
   Can no more soar to those far heights, and find
That freedom which its inspiration was.
When once we listen to its noisy cheers
   Or hear the populace’ approval, then
We catch no more the music of the spheres,
   Or walk with gods, and angels, but with men.
Till, impotent from our self-conscious fears,
The plaudits of the world turn into sneers.