He had been famous in his day;
    Much talked of, written of, and praised
    For virtues my small soul amazed—
And yet I thought his heart was clay.

He was too full of grace for me:
    His friends said, on a marble stone,
    His soul sat somewhere near the Throne
I did not know; I called to see.

His name and fame were on the door—
    A most superior tomb indeed,
    Much railed, and gilt, and filigreed;
He occupied the lower floor.

I knocked—a worm crawled from its hole:
I looked—and knew it for his soul.