Fame

Where is this dizzy height called fame

     That poets sing about?

This wondrous place of magic name,

     Has anyone found out?

If anyone has found it pat

I wish he’d tell me where it’s at.

Men sigh for it and cry for it,

     And have since Adam’s day;

And lie for it and die for it,

     And will till time grows gray.

But really now, come down to biz,

And tell me truly what it is.

Is it a thing to have and hold,

     A thing to feel and see?

A job, a gem, a pot of gold,

     A title or degree?

If anyone has made the strike

I wish he’d tell me what it’s like.

Men wait for it and write for it,

     And burn the mid night flame;

And hate for it and fight for it,

     This rainbow thing called fame.

But really, now, I’d give a byz’

To know just where and what it is.

Nov. 27, 1904