While with Ambition's hectic flame
He wastes the midnight oil,
And dreams, high-throned on heights of fame,
To rest him from his toil,--
Death's Angel, like a vast eclipse,
Above him spreads her wings,
And fans the embers of his lips
To ashes as he sings.
More verses by James Whitcomb Riley
- The Speeding Of The King's Spite
- The Squirtgun Uncle Maked Me
- The Stepmother
- The Touches Of Her Hand
- The Town Karnteel