William Bell Scott

(1811-1890 / Scotland)

Shakespeare - Poem by William Bell Scott

Give me but fame! the poetaster cries,
Standing on tiptoe so to touch the skies.

Why gather empty shells by God's ebb-shore, Vital no more,
Records of what has been, what matter they?
My soul's in mine own hand to-day;—
Quoth Shakespeare, and to Stratford bent his way.

Listen to this poem:

Comments about Shakespeare by William Bell Scott

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 22, 2010



[Report Error]