On Fame
Fame, like a wayward girl, will still be a coy
To those who woo her with too slavish knees,
But makes surrender to some thoughtless boy,
And dotes the more upon a heart at ease;
She is a Gipsey, will not speak to those
Who have not learnt to be content without her;
A jilt, whose ear was never whisper'd close,
Who thinks they scandal her who talk about her;
A very Gipsey is she, Nilus-born,
Sister-in-law to jealous Potiphar;
Ye love-sick Bards! madmen that ye are!
Make your best bow to her and bid adieu,
Then, if she likes it, she will follow you.
II.
(The best part)
"You cannot eat your cake and have it too."
How fever's is the man, who cannot look
Upon his mortal days with temperate blood,
who vexes all the leaves of his life's book,
And robs his fair name of its misty bloom,
As if a Naiad, like a meddling elf,
Should darken her pure grot with muddy gloom:
But the rose leaves herself upon the briar,
For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed,
And the ripe plum still wears its dim attire,
The undisturbed lake has crystal space;
Why then should man, teasing the world for grace,
Spoil his salvation for a fierce miscreed?
While reading through it, you almost forget that he was talking about fame. ;) You also wonder how his words haven't aged through time.
Labels: On Fame - John Keats (1795-1821)
posted by vagrant_vikas @ 10:30 AM
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