Fame Speaks

　　Steadfast through all the storms of passion,thou,

　　True to thy muse,and virgin to thy vow;

　　Resigned,if name with ashes were forgot,

　　So thou one arrow in the gold had'st shot!

　　I never placed my laurel on thy brow,

　　But on thy name I come to lay it now,

　　When thy bones wither in the earthly plot.

　　Fame is my name. I dwell among the clouds,

　　Being immortal,and the wreath I bring

　　Itself is Immortality. The sweets

　　Of earth I know not,more the pains,but wing

　　In mine own ether,with the crownéd crowds

　　Born of the centuries.-Stand forth,John Keats!