Ambition
I am the maid of the lustrous eyesOf great fruition,Whom the sons of men that are over-wiseHave called Ambition.
And the world’s success is the only goalI have within me;The meanest man with the smallest soulMay woo and win me.
For the lust of power and the pride of placeTo all I proffer.Wilt thou take thy part in the crowded raceFor what I offer?
The choice is thine, and the world is wide—Thy path is lonely.I may not lead and I may not guide—I urge thee only.
I am just a whip and a spur that smitesTo fierce endeavour.In the restless days and the sleepless nightsI urge thee ever.
Thou shalt wake from sleep with a startled cry,In fright upleapingAt a rival’s step as it passes byWhilst thou art sleeping.
Honour and truth shall be overthrownIn fierce desire;Thou shalt use thy friend as a stepping-stoneTo mount thee higher.
When the curtain falls on the sordid strifeThat seemed so splendid,Thou shalt look with pain on the wasted lifeThat thou hast ended.
Thou hast sold thy life for a guerdon smallIn fitful flashes;There has been reward—but the end of allIs dust and ashes.
For the night has come and it brings to naughtThy projects cherished,And thine epitaph shall in brass be wrought—“He lived and perished.”
Art
I wait for thee at the outer gate,My love, mine only;Wherefore tarriest thou so lateWhile I am lonely.
Thou shalt seek my side with a footstep swift,In thee implantedIs the love of Art and the greatest giftThat God has granted.
And the world’s concerns with its rights and wrongsShall seem but small things—Poet or painter, a singer of songs,Thine art is all things.
For the wine of life is a woman’s loveTo keep beside thee;But the love of Art is a thing above—A star to guide thee.
As the years go by with thy love of ArtAll undiminished,Thou shalt end thy days with a quiet heart—Thy work is finished.
So the painter fashions a picture strongThat fadeth never,And the singer singeth a wond’rous songThat lives for ever.