Fame Makes Us Forward.

To print our poems, the propulsive cause
Is fame - the breath of popular applause.

Robert Herrick

Robert Herrick was a 17th-century English lyric poet and cleric. He is known for his book of poems, "Hesperides," which includes the carpe diem poem "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time." His works are noted for their clarity, simplicity, and musical quality. Herrick was also a vicar of Dean Prior in Devon, despite being ejected during the English Civil War and later reinstated.

Robert Herrick

Upon Kings.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Death Ends All Woe.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Another. (Of God.)

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Haste Hurtful.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Fame.

'Tis still observ'd that fame ne'er sings
The order, but the sum of things.

Robert Herrick

Fame.

There is a cliff, no matter where,
    Which softened by the agencies
Of rain, exposure to the air,
    And alternating thaw and freeze,
        Most readily admits the edge
        Of chisel, or the sharpened wedge.

The travelers, while passing by,
    Within its shade find welcome rest;
And one of them mechanically,
    As is a custom in the west,
        Upon its surface stern and gray
        Carved out his name, and went his way.

Though inartistic and uncouth,
    That effort of a novice hand
Exemplifies a striking truth,
    And may Time's ravages withstand,
        To be by future ages read,
        When years and centuries have fled.

So on life's mighty thoroughfare,
    The multitude of every class
Leave no inscri...

Alfred Castner King

Fame

1
Once, in a dream, I saw a man,
With haggard face and tangled hair,
And eyes that nursed as wild a care
As gaunt Starvation ever can;
And in his hand he held a wand
Whose magic touch gave life and thought
Unto a form his fancy wrought
And robed with coloring so grand,
It seemed the reflex of some child
Of Heaven, fair and undefiled -
A face of purity and love -
To woo him into worlds above:
And as I gazed with dazzled eyes,
A gleaming smile lit up his lips
As his bright soul from its eclipse
Went flashing into Paradise.
Then tardy Fame came through the door
And found a picture - nothing more.

2
And once I saw a man alone,
In abject poverty, with hand
Uplifted o'er a block of stone
That took a shape at his command
...

James Whitcomb Riley

Fame

I

Once, in a dream, I saw a man
    With haggard face and tangled hair,
And eyes that nursed as wild a care
    As gaunt Starvation ever can;
And in his hand he held a wand
    Whose magic touch gave life and thought
    Unto a form his fancy wrought
And robed with coloring so grand,
    It seemed the reflex of some child
    Of Heaven, fair and undefiled -
    A face of purity and love -
    To woo him into worlds above:
And as I gazed with dazzled eyes,
    A gleaming smile lit up his lips
    As his bright soul from its eclipse
Went flashing into Paradise.
Then tardy Fame came through the door
And found a picture - nothing more.

II

And once I saw a man, alone,
    In abject poverty, with hand
Uplifted o'er a b...

James Whitcomb Riley

Fame Vs. Riches

The Greeks had genius,--'t was a gift
The Muse vouchsafed in glorious measure;
The boon of Fame they made their aim
And prized above all worldly treasure.

But we,--how do we train our youth?
Not in the arts that are immortal,
But in the greed for gains that speed
From him who stands at Death's dark portal.

Ah, when this slavish love of gold
Once binds the soul in greasy fetters,
How prostrate lies,--how droops and dies
The great, the noble cause of letters!

Eugene Field

Fame

Ah Fate, cannot a man
Be wise without a beard?
East, West, from Beer to Dan,
Say, was it never heard
That wisdom might in youth be gotten,
Or wit be ripe before 't was rotten?

He pays too high a price
For knowledge and for fame
Who sells his sinews to be wise,
His teeth and bones to buy a name,
And crawls through life a paralytic
To earn the praise of bard and critic.

Were it not better done,
To dine and sleep through forty years;
Be loved by few; be feared by none;
Laugh life away; have wine for tears;
And take the mortal leap undaunted,
Content that all we asked was granted?

But Fate will not permit
The seed of gods to die,
Nor suffer sense to win from wit
Its guerdon in the sky,
Nor let us hide, whate'er our p...

Ralph Waldo Emerson