Untitled 7 - Poem by Owen Suffolk
Fame surrounds us with a glory,
Dazzling as the noon-day sun,
And upon the page of story,
Blazons deeds of greatness done.
But 'tis love that sheds a brightness
Round us that can ne'er depart,
And with its own gentle lightness,
Writes its records on the heart.
Fame may stir the soul within us,
Half with pleasure, half with pain;
And a world's applause may win us
With its many-echoed strain.
But the song of love's own singing,
Though 'tis breathed by one alone,
Ever to the heart is bringing,
New-born raptures in its tone.
Give to me one fair form near me,
And I'll sigh no more for fame;
Better one sweet voice to cheer me,
Than the heartless crowd's acclaim.
Of fame's gifts I ask not any,
Its proud temples will I shun;
For the voices of the many,
Give to me the heart of one!
Comments about Untitled 7 by Owen Suffolk
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You