Poem by Edward Estlin Cummings

Fame Speaks

Stand forth, John Keats! On earth thou knew'st me not;
Steadfast through all the storms of passion,thou,
True to thy muse,and virgin to thy vow;
Resigned,if name with ashes were forgot,
So thou one arrow in the gold had'st shot!
I never placed my laurel on thy brow,
But on thy name I come to lay it now,
When thy bones wither in the earthly plot.
Fame is my name.  I dwell among the clouds,
Being immortal,and the wreath I bring
Itself is Immortality.  The sweets
Of earth I know not,more the pains,but wing
In mine own ether,with the crownéd crowds
Born of the centuries.-Stand forth,John Keats!

1. come nothing to my comparable soul
2. when my sensational moments are no more
3. I have seen her stealthily frail
4. perhaps it is to feel strike
5. a fragrant sag of fruit distinctly grouped

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