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.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 22, 2010

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