NOT on the neck of prince or hound <br /> Nor on a woman’s finger twin’d, <br />May gold from the deriding ground <br /> Keep sacred that we sacred bind: <br /> Only the heel <br /> Of splendid steel <br /> Shall stand secure on sliding fate, <br /> When golden navies weep their freight. <br /> <br />The scarlet hat, the laurell’d stave <br /> Are measures, not the springs, of worth; <br />In a wife’s lap, as in a grave, <br /> Man’s airy notions mix with earth. <br /> Seek other spur <br /> Bravely to stir <br />The dust in this loud world, and tread <br />Alp-high among the whisp’ring dead. <br /> <br />Trust in thyself,—then spur amain: <br /> So shall Charybdis wear a grace, <br />Grim AEtna laugh, the Libyan plain <br /> Take roses to her shrivell’d face. <br /> This orb—this round <br /> Of sight and sound— <br /> Count it the lists that God hath built <br /> For haughty hearts to ride a-tilt.<br /><br />Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-splendid-spur/
