 | A Sonnet Chronicle |  |
37
Zola Dead
September 29, 1902.
Greatly you dared, grim advocate of Truth,
Apostle you of stark reality,
Now in your simple shirt at rest you lie
And know the secret sought for, yea, forsooth
Already have forgotten pain and ruth,
The statesman's hiss, the fierce fanatic's cry,
Already feel how brave men when they die
Mount up like eagles and renew their youth.
Apostle you of stark reality,
Now in your simple shirt at rest you lie
And know the secret sought for, yea, forsooth
Already have forgotten pain and ruth,
The statesman's hiss, the fierce fanatic's cry,
Already feel how brave men when they die
Mount up like eagles and renew their youth.
Zola! when all the law courts broke to flame
You quailed not, still you breathed th' accuser's breath,
And Paris felt in that supremest hour
Deep beyond deep, Truth's transcendental power,
Now Paris, scarce, for sobbing, speaks your name,
But those stern lips accuse her still of Death.
You quailed not, still you breathed th' accuser's breath,
And Paris felt in that supremest hour
Deep beyond deep, Truth's transcendental power,
Now Paris, scarce, for sobbing, speaks your name,
But those stern lips accuse her still of Death.
| A Sonnet Chronicle | |