I do not aim to glorify myself
Nor heap up mountains of ill-gotten pelf:
Fame, worship, riches, status, I despise—
All which I’d sacrifice for being wise.
Such lust for wisdom surely is no sin:
Of all the honors human beings might win,
The accolade of Sage transcends the rest
And by esteemed tradition proves most blessed.
Of what, then, does sagacity consist?
Might I compile a comprehensive list
Of qualities I must accrue to be
Regarded for my keen profundity?
Or is it something simpler to attain,
A matter for the heart more than the brain?