Arthur Davison Ficke
“A brilliant mind, gone wrong!” ...
O tell me, ye who throng
The beehives of the world, grow ye not ever weary of this song?
“The way our fathers went.” ...
Yes, if our days were spent
Sod-deep, beside our fathers’ bones, wise, needless were your argument.
“The wisdom of the mass.” ...
Thank God, it too shall pass
Like the breathed film hiding the face grayly within the silvered glass.