Classic Poem

While fame is young, too weak to fly away,
Envy pursues her, like some bird of prey.
But once on wing then all the dangers cease;
Envy herself is glad to be at peace,
Gives over, wearied with so high a flight,
Above her reach and scarce within her sight.
But such the frailty is of human kind,
Men toil for fame, which no man lives to find.
Long rip'ning underground, this china lies;
Fame bears no fruit, till the vain planter dies.