Ambition

I am the maid of the lustrous eyes

Of great fruition,

Whom the sons of men that are over-wise

Have called Ambition.

And the world's success is the only goal

I have within me;

The meanest man with the smallest soul

May woo and win me.

For the lust of power and the pride of place

To all I proffer.

Wilt thou take thy part in the crowded race

For what I offer?

The choice is thine, and the world is wide —

Thy path is lonely.

I may not lead and I may not guide —

I urge thee only.

I am just a whip and a spur that smites

To fierce endeavour.

In the restless days and the sleepless nights

I urge thee ever.

Thou shalt wake from sleep with a startled cry,

In fright upleaping

At a rival's step as it passes by

Whilst thou art sleeping.

Honour and truth shall be overthrown

In fierce desire;

Thou shalt use thy friend as a stepping-stone

To mount thee higher.

When the curtain falls on the sordid strife

That seemed so splendid,

Thou shalt look with pain on the wasted life

That thou hast ended.

Thou hast sold thy life for a guerdon small

In fitful flashes;

There has been reward — but the end of all

Is dust and ashes.

For the night has come and it brings to naught

Thy projects cherished,

And thine epitaph shall in brass be wrought —

‘ He lived and perished.’