Inheritance

written by


« Reload image

THERE lived a man who raised his hand and said,
  "I will be great!"
And through a long, long life he bravely knocked
  At Fame's closed gate.

A son he left who, like his sire, strove
  High place to win;--
Worn out, he died and, dying, left no trace
  That he had been.

He also left a son, who, without care
  Or planning how,
Bore the fair letters of a deathless fame
  Upon his brow.

"Behold a genius, filled with fire divine!"
  The people cried;
Not knowing that to make him what he was
  Two men had died.

© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay