Not on the neck of prince or hound,

       Nor on a woman's finger twin'd,

     May gold from the deriding ground

       Keep sacred that we sacred bind:

                Only the heel

                Of splendid steel

       Shall stand secure on sliding fate,

       When golden navies weep their freight.

     The scarlet hat, the laurell'd stave

        Are measures, not the springs, of worth;

     In a wife's lap, as in a grave,

        Man's airy notions mix with earth.

                Seek other spur

                Bravely to stir

        The dust in this loud world, and tread

        Alp-high among the whisp'ring dead.

     Trust in thyself,—then spur amain:

        So shall Charybdis wear a grace,

      Grim Aetna laugh, the Libyan plain

        Take roses to her shrivell'd face.

                 This orb—this round

                 Of sight and sound—

        Count it the lists that God hath built

        For haughty hearts to ride a-tilt.