He knew that undeceiving fate Would shame us whom he served unsought; He knew that he must wince and wait -- The jest of those for whom he fought; He knew devoutly what he thought Of us and of our ridicule; He knew that we must all be taught Like little children in a school. We gave a glamour to the task That he encountered and saw through, But little of us did he ask, And little did we ever do. And what appears if we review The season when we railed and chaffed? It is the face of one who knew That we were learning while we laughed. The face that in our vision feels Again the venom that we flung, Transfigured to the world reveals The vigilance to which we clung. Shrewd, hallowed, harassed, and among The mysteries that are untold, The face we see was never young, Nor could it ever have been old. For he, to whom we have applied Our shopman's test of age and worth, Was elemental when he died, As he was ancient at his birth: The saddest among kings of earth, Bowed with a galling crown, this man Met rancor with a cryptic mirth, Laconic -- and Olympian. The love, the grandeur, and the fame Are bounded by the world alone; The calm, the smouldering, and the flame Of awful patience were his own: With him they are forever flown Past all our fond self-shadowings, Wherewith we cumber the Unknown As with inept Icarian wings. For we were not as other men: 'T was ours to soar and his to see. But we are coming down again, And we shall come down pleasantly; Nor shall we longer disagree On what it is to be sublime, But flourish in our perigee And have one Titan at a time. On the Building of Springfield. [Nicholas Vachel Lindsay] Let not our town be large -- remembering That little Athens was the Muses' home; That Oxford rules the heart of London still, That Florence gave the Renaissance to Rome. Record it for the grandson of your son -- A city is not builded in a day: Our little town cannot complete her soul Till countless generations pass away. Now let each child be joined as to a church To her perpetual hopes, each man ordained; Let every street be made a reverent aisle Where music grows, and beauty is unchained. Let Science and Machinery and Trade Be slaves of her, and make her all in all -- Building against our blatant restless time An unseen, skillful, mediaeval wall. Let every citizen be rich toward God. Let Christ, the beggar, teach divinity -- Let no man rule who holds his money dear. Let this, our city, be our luxury. We should build parks that students from afar Would choose to starve in, rather than go home -- Fair little squares, with Phidian ornament -- Food for the spirit, milk and honeycomb. Songs shall be sung by us in that good day -- Songs we have written -- blood within the rhyme Beating, as when old England still was glad, The purple, rich, Elizabethan time.