Fame

One thousand years I slept beneath the sod,My sleep in 1901 beginning,Then, by the action of some scurvy godWho happened then to recollect my sinning,I was revived and given another inning.On breaking from my grave I saw a crowd--A formless multitude of men and women,Gathered about a ruin. Clamors loudI heard, and curses deep enough to swim in;And, pointing at me, one said: "Let's put him in."Then each turned on me with an evil look,As in my ragged shroud I stood and shook.

"Nay, good Posterity," I cried, "forbear!If that's a jail I fain would be remainingOutside, for truly I should little careTo catch my death of cold. I'm just regainingThe life lost long ago by my disdainingTo take precautions against draughts like thoseThat, haply, penetrate that cracked and splittingOld structure." Then an aged wight aroseFrom a chair of state in which he had been sitting,And with preliminary coughing, spittingAnd wheezing, said: "'T is not a jail, we're sure,Whate'er it may have been when it was newer.

"'T was found two centuries ago, o'ergrownWith brush and ivy, all undoored, ungated;And in restoring it we found a stoneSet here and there in the dilapidatedAnd crumbling frieze, inscribed, in antiquatedBig characters, with certain uncouth names,Which we conclude were borne of old by awfulRapscallions guilty of all sinful games--Vagrants engaged in purposes unlawful,And orators less sensible than jawful.So each ten years we add to the long rowA name, the most unworthy that we know."

"But why," I asked, "put me in?" He replied:"You look it"--and the judgment pained me greatly;Right gladly would I then and there have died,But that I'd risen from the grave so lately.But on examining that solemn, statelyOld ruin I remarked: "My friend, you err--The truth of this is just what I expected.This building in its time made quite a stir.I lived (was famous, too) when 't was erected.The names here first inscribed were much respected.This is the Hall of Fame, or I'm a stork,And this goat pasture once was called New York."