Poems
Yet no mere court of shining lords,
No mere barbaric splendours spread
Around me—not with spears and swords
Is my rich progress carpeted,
A more enduring path I tread.
No mere barbaric splendours spread
Around me—not with spears and swords
Is my rich progress carpeted,
A more enduring path I tread.
Great poets—great philosophers
Have bowed to me, and called me great;
With the rich wisdom of old years
I mingle and participate,
And gauge steep gulfs of human Fate.
Have bowed to me, and called me great;
With the rich wisdom of old years
I mingle and participate,
And gauge steep gulfs of human Fate.
Once more, hid long by monkish spite,
Plato awakes from sleep, and, wise
In loveliness, his words invite
Weak man's obliterated eyes
To contemplate new worlds and skies.
Plato awakes from sleep, and, wise
In loveliness, his words invite
Weak man's obliterated eyes
To contemplate new worlds and skies.
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