Alfred Austin

“ For poor though love that doth not rouse
To deeds of glory dreaming brows,
What but a bitter sweet
Is loftiest fame, unless it lay
The soldier’s sword, the poet’s bay,
Low at some loved one’s feet. ”

“ Is it then so, that Glory ne’er
Its throne with Happiness will share,
But, baffling half our aim,
Grief is the forfeit Greatness pays,
Lone places grow the greenest bays,
And anguish suckles Fame? ”