| ‘What have I earned for all that work,’ I said, |
| ‘For all that I have done at my own charge? |
| The daily spite
of this unmannerly town, |
| Where who has served the most is most defamed, |
| The reputation of his lifetime
lost |
| Between the night and morning. I might have lived, |
| And you know well how great the longing has
been, |
| Where every day my footfall should have lit |
| In the green shadow of Ferrara wall; |
| Or climbed among
the images of the past— |
| The unperturbed and courtly images— |
| Evening and morning, the steep street
of Urbino |
| To where the duchess and her people talked |
| The stately midnight through until they stood |
| In their great window looking at the dawn; |
| I might have had no friend that could not mix |
| Courtesy and
passion into one like those |
| That saw the wicks grow yellow in the dawn; |
| I might have used the one substantial
right |
| My trade allows: chosen my company, |
| And chosen what scenery had pleased me best.’ |
| Thereon
my phoenix answered in reproof, |
| ‘The drunkards, pilferers of public funds, |
| All the dishonest crowd I had
driven away, |
| When my luck changed and they dared meet my face, |
| Crawled from obscurity, and set
upon me |
| Those I had served and some that I had fed; |
| Yet never have I, now nor any time, |
| Complained
of the people.’ |
|
|
|
|
| All I could reply |
| Was: ‘You, that have not lived in thought but deed, |
| Can have the purity of
a natural force, |
| But I, whose virtues are the definitions |
| Of the analytic mind, can neither close |
| The eye
of the mind nor keep my tongue from speech.’ |
| And yet, because my heart leaped at her words, |
| I was
abashed, and now they come to mind |
| After nine years, I sink my head abashed. |
