Classic Poem

Prize not, poet, the vulgar love of people lewd;
The noise of popular applause will quickly pass,
The fool will give his verdict, and the mob will laugh;
But keep thou firm in soul, be tranquil and reserved.

Thou art a Tsar, must live alone! Along thy path
March freely as thy genius shall choose to lead;
And when thou hast brought forth the fruit of fancy free,
Seek not reward or praise for thy best achievements.

Thy sole reward is in thyself. Thou art thy judge:
And more severely than the rest will scan thy work;
Art thou content, creator stern and righteous?
Content? Then let the vermin mob condemn thy work,
Let them spit upon the altar where the fire burns,
And dash to ground in childish spite the tripod holy.