Of their own eyes. They sleep here, like gorged snakes, Refusing even to look at planets, moons, Or telescope. They think philosophy Is all in books, and that the truth is found Neither in nature, nor the Universe, But in comparing texts. How you would laugh Had you but heard our first philosopher Before the Grand Duke, trying to tear down And argue the new planets out of heaven, Now by his own weird logic and closed eyes And now by magic spells." How could he help Despising them a little? It's an error Even for a giant to despise a midge; For, when the giant reels beneath some stroke Of fate, the buzzing clouds will swoop upon him, Cluster and feed upon his bleeding wounds, And do what midges can to sting him blind. These human midges have not missed their chance. They have missed no smallest spot upon that sun. My mother was not married--they have found-- To my dear father. All his children, then, And doubtless all their thoughts are evil, too; But who that judged him ever sought to know Whether, as evil sometimes wears the cloak Of virtue, nobler virtue in this man Might wear that outward semblance of a sin? Yes, even you who love me, may believe These thoughts are born of my own tainted heart; And yet I write them, kneeling in my cell And whisper them to One who blesses me Here, from His Cross, upon the bare grey wall. So, if you love me, bless me also, you, By helping him. Make plain to all you meet What part his enemies have played in this. How some one, somehow, altered the command Laid on him all those years ago, by Rome, So that it reads to-day as if he vowed Never to think or breathe that this round earth Moves with its sister-planets round the sun. 'Tis true he promised not to write or speak As if this truth were 'stablished equally With God's eternal laws; and so he wrote His Dialogues, reasoning for it, and against, And gave the last word to Simplicio, Saying that human reason must bow down Before the power of God. And even this His enemies have twisted to a sneer Against the Pope, and cunningly declared Simplicio to be Urban. Why, my friend, There were three dolphins on the titlepage, Each with the tail of another in its mouth. The censor had not seen this, and they swore It held some hidden meaning. Then they found The same three dolphins sprawled on all the books Landini printed at his Florence press. They tried another charge. I am not afraid Of any truth that they can bring against him; But, O, my friend, I more than fear their lies. I do not fear the justice of our God; But I do fear the vanity of men; Even of Urban; not His Holiness, But Urban, the weak man, who may resent, And in resentment rush half-way to meet This cunning lie with credence. Vanity! O, half the wrongs on earth arise from that! Greed, and war's pomp, all envy, and most hate, Are born of that; while one dear humble heart,