Oh, to be Rich and Famous

to be Rich…

      Whenever Richard Cory went down town,

         We people on the pavement looked at him:

      He was a gentleman from sole to crown,

         Clean favored and imperially slim.

       And he was always quietly arrayed,

          And he was always human when he talked;

        But still he fluttered pulses when he said,

          “Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.

        And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—

           And admirably schooled in every grace:

         In fine, we thought he was everything

           To make us wish that we were in his place.

         So on we worked, and waited for the light,

            And went without the meat, and cursed the bread:

         And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,

             Went home and put a bullet through his head.

                                                   Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869-1935)

and Famous…

          I met a traveler from an antique land,

         Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

          Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,

          Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

           And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

           Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,

           Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

           The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:

           And on the pedestal these words appear:

           “My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:

           Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”

           Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

           Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

           The lone and level sands stretch far away.

                                                            Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

                                        AMEN