And must I live my life, and rise and sleep?
Work,—since I cannot weep?
Must daily toil begin,
A joyless strife renewed, with nought to win?

Has life a value, mother, now for me
Lonely, apart from thee?
From dawn to set of sun
Never was work without thy counsel done!

How shall I strive, alone,
To lure the coy Fame downward from her throne?
If Fame should stoop at last
Would not the soul's exultant power be past?