I. <br />Fame, like a wayward girl, will still be coy <br />To those who woo her with too slavish knees, <br />But makes surrender to some thoughtless boy, <br />And dotes the more upon a heart at ease; <br />She is a Gypsy,-will not speak to those <br />Who have not learnt to be content without her; <br />A Jilt, whose ear was never whisper'd close, <br />Who thinks they scandal her who talk about her; <br />A very Gypsy is she, Nilus-born, <br />Sister-in-law to jealous Potiphar; <br />Ye love-sick Bards! repay her scorn for scorn; <br />Ye Artists lovelorn! madmen that ye are! <br />Make your best bow to her and bid adieu, <br />Then, if she likes it, she will follow you. <br /> <br />II. <br />'You cannot eat your cake and have it too.'~Proverb. <br /> <br />How fever'd is the man, who cannot look <br />Upon his mortal days with temperate blood, <br />Who vexes all the leaves of his life's book, <br />And robs his fair name of its maidenhood; <br />It is as if the rose should pluck herself, <br />On the ripe plum finger its misty bloom, <br />As if a Naiad, like a meddling elf, <br />Should darken her pure grot with muddy gloom: <br />But the rose leaves herself upon the briar, <br />For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed, <br />And the ripe plum still wears its dim attire, <br />The undisturbed lake has crystal space; <br />Why then should man, teasing the world for grace, <br />Spoil his salvation for a fierce miscreed?<br /><br />John Keats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/two-sonnets-on-fame/
