Classic Poem

Fame is your right, O noble soul,
Though you reject your due
Till Death, defying your control,
Shall force the crown on you.
Meantime may this quatrain I send
Beneath my bust proclaim
'Twas you that chose to set your friend
With bards of noblest name.

Reader, I gained what I desired,
The palm for lighter verse,
And if you hold me not inspired
You love me none the worse.
Let others claim the epic rage,
The seers of lofty dreams,
While men unwearied con my page
That trills on little themes.