The Final Strain

I climbed the craggy hill of fame,
  Heart-sore and wearily,
Stood on her gleaming goal at length,
  And sighed in ecstasy.

“O God,” I cried, “what bliss”⁠—when lo!
  Came stealing like a pall,
The strains of Life’s Last Symphony,
  In Prelude, to⁠—the call.