|
|
Success.
By W. M. MacKeracher
What is success? In mad soul-suicide
The world's vain spoils rapaciously to seize,
To pamper the base appetite of pride,
And live a lord in luxury and ease?
Is this success, whereof so many prate? -
To have the Midas-touch that turns to gold
Earth's common blessings? to accumulate,
And in accumulation to grow old?
Nay, but to see and undertake with zest
The good most in agreement with our powers,
To strive, if need be, for the second best,
But still to strive, and glean the golden hours,
With eyes for nature, and a mind for truth,
And the brave, loving, joyous heart of youth.
Extra Info:
|
|
Printable Page
Add Your Thoughts on this poem.
This page viewed 84 times.
|
|
