The Splendid Spur

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.