Fame is a fickle food
Upon a shifting plate
Whose table once a
Guest but not
The second time is set.
Whose crumbs the crows inspect
And with ironic caw
Flap past it to the Farmer's Corn--
Men eat of it and die.
Emily Dickinson
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fame-is-a-fickle-food-1659/
