THE LURE

Ambitious Youth! How glorious are thy dreams!
Oh, restless spirit! How far the future seems!
Hope fills the hours, and brightest visions shine,
Revealing fame and fortune to be thine.

Your dreams may be of hoarded minted gold;
Of opulence beyond desire to hold;
May be that you, with quickened throb of heart,
Behold yourself assume a hero's part.

There's naught impossible! Fame, fortune, all,
Come trooping up at the insistent call
Of your ambitious urge; yours to command.
The world is yours -- the conquest is at hand.

The sun, midway between the dawn and noon,
Bids you make speed; mayhap it all too soon
Will pass the zenith of your hopes and schemes,
And disillusionment dispel your dreams.

Does your ambition fire you on to tread
The paths of glory clogged and strewn with dead?
Can suffering the qualms of conscience cure,
Or fame, at such a sacrifice, endure?

Would you have wealth, with its attendant power,
To make or break a rival in an hour?
Manipulating markets by the weight
Of the vast holdings of your own estate?

May be that hoarded gold and wealth are not
The all absorbing baubles to be got.
It may be approbation's luring voice
That stirs your pulses and decides your choice.