Narcissus
What crypt of shadows is our ever-wav’ring world!
Within our hasty days, its guises change so fast
That even wise men’s sturdy roots are torn and hurled
To dire indifference, tomb of care which cannot last.
One day indulged by fame, forgotten but the next,
Narcissus wastes his youth while captive to cheap praise,
Then shrivels with remorse when charm by age is vexed
And far too late it is to mend his haughty ways.
While he is idolized, too many reap but scorn
And centuries may pass before their gifts are known,
For few indeed to immortality are born:
Throughout their tortured time, they often tread alone.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
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