And thro’ their lips my spirit spoke to men
Of higher hopes, of courage under pain,
Of worthy aspirations, fearless flight
To reach the light.
Then, soul of mine, content thee with thy fate,
Though noble niche of fame and guerdon great
Be not for thee: thy modest task was sweet
At beauty’s feet.
The Artist passes like a swift-blown breeze,
Or vapors floating up from summer seas;