Oh what shall I be known for, what eternal ring
Shall sound in hearts and minds each time my name is struck?
What shall they thank me for, their praise untiring?
What great sufficient gift? Or would it be enough
To pack it in, and call life's long day done, for once.
And dream the anonymity of lasting fame,
Where all the worthies every passing age produced
To crowd the bursting world with truth, for common gain,
Are crammed into one Heaven, much confused and shamed
By virtue of well-worn and famous names of note
- So many tags mixed up to sound the same, attached
Or drifting loose from what one made, or hatched, or wrote -
A vast, untimely brood descending everywhere.
Such is the thanks and honor one begets, bequeathed
To all the world, for all one's cares: a laurel wreath
Upon a grave and monumental plaque inscribed:
To someone else,
Whose name we praise,
Confused with you
- Who also died.
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