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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=396960" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Alex. Smith, The 'Glasgow Poet,' On His Sonnet To 'Fame</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=396960" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Not vainly doth the earnest voice of man <br>Call for the thing that is his pure desire! <br>Fame is the birthright of the living lyre! <br>To noble impulse Nature puts no ban. <br>Nor vainly to the Sphinx thy voice was raised! <br>Tho' all thy great emotions like a sea, <br>Against her stony immortality, <br>Shatter themselves unheeded and amazed. <br>Time moves behind her in a blind eclipse: <br>Yet if in her cold eyes the end of all <br>Be visible, as on her large closed lips <br>Hangs dumb the awful riddle of the earth; - <br>She sees, and she might speak, since that wild call, <br>The mighty warning of a Poet's birth.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=George+Meredith">George Meredith</a></strong></div>

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