Sons of an earlier age,
Poet and painter stretched no guiding hand.
Even the gaunt spirit, whom the Mantuan led
Through the dark chasms and fiery clefts of pain,
Could set a bound to his own realms of night,
Enwall then round, build his own stairs to heaven,
And slept now, prisoned, in his own coiling towers....
Leonardo—found a shell among the hills,
A sea-shell, turned to stone, as at the gaze
Of his own cold Medusa. His dark eyes,