Poems (Chilton, 1885)/Genius
GENIUS.
A great soul never yet was turned aside
From its true purpose: hatred and mistrust—
The portion of the Meek One crucified—
Are in Faith's golden balance but as dust.
Contempt and scorn are to the wise and just
But arrows shot into the woundless air.
Genius finds safety in its own disgust
At all earth's vileness; happy but to share
The scanty raiment, and the coarse hard fare,
With which the vain world clothes and feeds its great;
And from its eagle-eyrie on the bare
Bleak rock, high up above the storms of Fate,
It mounts in the pure air, and takes its way
Right onward to the golden gates of day!
From its true purpose: hatred and mistrust—
The portion of the Meek One crucified—
Are in Faith's golden balance but as dust.
Contempt and scorn are to the wise and just
But arrows shot into the woundless air.
Genius finds safety in its own disgust
At all earth's vileness; happy but to share
The scanty raiment, and the coarse hard fare,
With which the vain world clothes and feeds its great;
And from its eagle-eyrie on the bare
Bleak rock, high up above the storms of Fate,
It mounts in the pure air, and takes its way
Right onward to the golden gates of day!