 | Cosmo De' Medici |  |
134
ARM-FOLDED STAND!
(To Le Conte de Lisle, Paris, 1875.)
Γνωθι σεαυτον.
I
Arm-folded, stand upon thy rock, and smileWith quiet consciousness of what thou art,
Watching the waves in their contentious boil!
Thy genius stoops not to the common mart,
And from thy lofty thoughts, the half soul'd crowd recoil.
II
The world moves on in Science,—but for ArtThe old stupidity still reigns a King
Who drives the same ways, in the same gilt cart,
Seeing no phœnix but on well-sunned wing.
Apollo is no god, without a “hall-marked” dart.
III
But, some day, France—through accident, or dream—Will ask “How came it men were blind as stone?
Seek we his house with laurels! and the beam
Of fair prosperity!—atone! atone!”
They find the shutters closed. All dark. The body's gone!
| Cosmo De' Medici | |