Stanzas Written on the Road between Florence and Pisa

Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story--

The days of our Youth are the days of our glory;

And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty

Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.

What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled?

Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled:

Then away with all such from the head that is hoary,

What care I for the wreaths that can _only_ give glory?

Oh Fame!--if I e'er took delight in thy praises,

'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases,

Than to see the bright eyes of the dear One discover,

She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.

_There_ chiefly I sought thee, _there_ only I found thee;

Her Glance was the best of the rays that surround thee,

When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story,

I knew it was Love, and I felt it was Glory.