E. E. Cummings

Fame Speaks

Stand forth,John Keats! On earth thou knew'st me not; 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!

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