The past is like a story br I have listened to in dreams br That vanished in the glory br Of the Morning's early gleams; br And--at my shadow glancing-- br I feel a loss of strength, br As the Day of Life advancing br Leaves it shorn of half its length. br br But it's all in vain to worry br At the rapid race of Time-- br And he flies in such a flurry br When I trip him with a rhyme, br I'll bother him no longer br Than to thank you for the thought br That 'my fame is growing stronger br As you really think it ought.' br br And though I fall below it, br I might know as much of mirth br To live and die a poet br Of unacknowledged worth; br For Fame is but a vagrant-- br Though a loyal one and brave, br And his laurels ne'er so fragrant br As when scattered o'er the grave.