I hold it one of the sad certain laws Which make our failures sometimes seem more kind Than that success which brings sure loss behind--- True greatness dies, when sounds the world's applause. Fame blights the object it would bless, because Weighed down with men's expectancy, the mind Can no more soar to those far heights, and find That freedom which its inspiration was. When once we listen to its noisy cheers Or hear the populace' approval, then We catch no more the music of the spheres, Or walk with gods and angels, but with men. Till, impotent from our self-conscious fears, The plaudits of the world turn into sneers.
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