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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=454942" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ode on a Sermon Against Glory</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=454942" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Come then, tell me, sage divine, <br> Is it an offence to own <br> That our bosoms e'er incline <br> Toward immortal glory's throne? <br> For with me nor pomp, nor pleasure, <br> Bourbon's might, Braganza's treasure, <br> So can fancy's dream rejoice, <br> So conciliate reason's choice, <br>As one approving word of her impartial voice. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=454942" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> If to spurn at noble praise <br> Be the pass-port to thy heaven, <br> Follow thou those gloomy ways; <br> No such law to me was given, <br> Nor, I trust, shall I deplore me <br> Faring like my friends before me; <br> Nor an holier place desire <br> Than Timolean's arms acquire, <br>And Tully's curule chair, and Milton's golden lyre.</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=Mark+Akenside">Mark Akenside</a></strong></div>

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