Classic Poem

What is ambition? 'Tis a glorious cheat!
It seeks the chamber of the gifted boy,
And lifts his humble window, and comes in;
The narrow walls expand, and spread away
Into a kingly palace, and the roof
Lifts to the sky, and unseen fingers work
The ceilings with rich blazonry, and write
His name in burning letters over all.
And ever, as he shuts his wildered eyes,
The phantom comes and lays upon his lids
A spell that murders sleep, and in his ear
Whispers a deathless word, and on his brain
Breathes a fierce thirst no waters will allay.

He is its slave henceforth. His days are spent
In chaining down his heart, and watching where
To rise by human weaknesses. His nights
Bring him no rest in all their blessèd hours.
His kindred are forgotten or estranged;
Unhealthful fires burn constant in his eye.
His lip grows restless, and its smile is curled
Half into scorn: till the bright, fiery boy,
That 't was a daily blessing but to see,
His spirit was so bird-like and so pure,
Is frozen, in the very flush of youth,
Into a cold, care-fretted, heartless man.

And what is its reward? At best, a name!
Praise--when the ear has grown too dull to hear;
Gold--when the senses it should please are dead;
Wreaths--when the hair they cover has grown gray;
Fame--when the heart it should have thrilled is numb;
All things but love--when love is all we want;
And close behind comes Death, and ere we know,
That even these unavailing gifts are ours,
He sends us, stripped and naked, to the grave.