Posts Tagged ‘fame’

“What is the real good?”
I ask in musing mood.

“Order,” said the law court;
“Knowledge,” said the school;
“Truth,” said the wise man;
“Pleasure,” said the fool;
“Love,” said the maiden;
“Beauty,” said the page;
“Freedom,” said the dreamer;
“Home,” said the sage;
“Fame,” said the soldier;
“Equity,” said the seer.
Spake my heart fully sad:
“The answer is not here.”

Then within my bosom
Softly this I heard:
“Each heart holds the secret:
‘Kindness’ is the word.”




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The minor leaguers play for wealth and fame
Or just for pleasure on their daily plate,
Or anything to carry on their name
In hamlets small, or cities that are great.

Ambition is the wind that fills their sail
And drives them toward the only port they see,
Which may not measure much upon a scale –
But forward without knowing, blissfully!

Though some succeed and gain the greater stage
Most toil on in obscurity to fail,
A rueful fact they recognize in age,
And in depression, raise a bitter wail.

But majors hit a fastball none can see
And rarely swing at curves the foe may throw.
The list of contrasts go on endlessly –
So, too, those on the high road, not the low.


photo by Robert Linder at


© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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………………February 16, 1874

The painter’s and the poet’s fame
Shed their twinned lustre round his name,
To gild our story-teller’s art,
Where each in turn must play his part. 

What scenes from Wilkie’s pencil sprung,
The minstrel saw but left unsung!
What shapes the pen of Collins drew,
No painter clad in living hue! 

But on our artist’s shadowy screen
A stranger miracle is seen
Than priest unveils or pilgrim seeks, –
The poem breathes, the picture speaks! 

And so his double name comes true,
They christened better than they knew,
And Art proclaims him twice her son, –
Painter and poet, both in one!


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I wonder how discerning
Are readers as we read.
What is it that is earning
The plaudits that we bleed?

We see a well-known poet
And fawn then at his verse
E’en when the lines all show it,
That he was never worse.

Does tugging of emotions,
Like tides moved by the moon,
Sweep ‘way our lucid oceans
And bring us to a swoon?

I see the famed write riddles
With words, mysterious.
The sage then guesses, diddles;
Proclaims, “He blesses us!”

What is the worth, I wonder,
Of verse that’s so abstruse
All pleasure does it plunder
Like vultures pluck a goose.

What if we took an unknown name
(Like weed behind some barn)
And on a poem by one of fame
Replaced his with that yarn?

Would fancy soon be fading
As day does when the sun
Blocked by earth’s barricading
Lets darkness start its run?

If name of Keats or Browning
Was pinned upon my best,
Would that stop some from frowning
And my verse pass the test?

There’s a bit of snobbery
That comes with poet fame.
Also, there’s some robbery
From those who have no name.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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If all we hold and all we touch
Determines rich or poor,
Then those who live in little huts
Are sore in need, for sure.

If pedestals and public praise
Are measures of a man,
He’s poor when fickle turn away,
And he’s an also-ran.

If men are rich by length of days,
Then newborn babes are broke,
As well as those in early days
Felled by Grim Reaper’s stroke.

But if there is a something else
That all can have or not,
A something that’s the greatest pearl,
Then that’s man’s Camelot.

Then, fame and fortune fade away.
For, lost is their allure.
Perhaps the one in hut is rich;
The one in palace, poor.


photo by Stella Bogdanic at


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.

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