WHEN I AM GONE

What good is Fame when I am dead and gone,

When in immarcescible regions

My temple rots and soul doth storm and mourn

As bones of mine adorn an early grave?

Who'll hear and know that I worked hard and long,

That twin sighs and tears storm'd me by legions,

My life, a sunless one — bleak and forlorn.

No ray of light whilst I in thralldom slave?

What good is Fame when I am dead and gone,

When in fenowed abyss’, stark and cold,

I wend my solemn footsteps and atone,

Whilst Fame my brow doth crown with its renown?

Who'll know that heart and soul bled on and on,

That storm-swept aches and woes were mine untold,

My life a waste, from which there stole a moan,

No Aureole whilst I in sorrow drown?

What good is Fame when I am dead and gone,

When far and wide my praise is heard and sung,

And busts and marble-heads my deeds unfurl

To multitudes that knew me not in flesh?

Not when I'm gone care I for Renown's dawn,

Now, whilst I labour at Fame's lowest rung,

Let me reap dame Approval's brightest pearl

And sip its olpe as I my battles thresh.