I saw a statue in the market-place—
The guerdon of a life of noble toil.
Austerely shone the marble that should foil
Oblivion, tho’ the desecrated base,
Round which the sullen huckster trod, bore trace
Of dogs’ defilement—transitory moil
That expiating rains would soon assoil;
But oh, the sunlight on that tranquil face!
What to the Titan were the mindless deed,
Mire-born, and swiftly with the mire made one?
No more than could the marble couldst thou heed
The mongrel, and the hate of souls uncouth—
Thou eagle who hast gazed upon the sun
And canst endure the light which is the truth!