Classic Poem

Fame, like a wayward girl, will still be 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 gipsy, will not speak to those
Who have not learnt to be content without her;
A jilt, whose ear was never whispered close,
Who thinks they scandal her who talk about her —
A very gipsy is she, Nilus-born,
Sister-in-law to jealous Potiphar.
Ye love-sick bards! repay her scorn for scorn;
Ye artists lovelorn! madmen that ye are,
Make your best bow to her and bid adieu —
Then, if she likes it, she will follow you.