Classic Poem

Where shall we find repose? Where, but in Art —
The gentle arts that give us poise and vision
Above the dull and soiling mire of life,
And by the strength of their reality
Armor the fainting heart with fortitude
For the fierce clash with Wrong? When lived a villain
Who ever cherished music — not the blare,
Reiterant, of madness, Satan's glee
As he were welcoming the lost to Hell,
But the uncloying harmonies of joy,
Such as Beethoven caught and angels choir.
What man with reverent memory of St. Mark's
Could court corruption? Can the soul forget
How it communed with Time when first it saw
High in the ivory moonlight Athens' crown,
Perfect in imperfection? Do the base,
Plotting dark infamies against the State,
Quote Wordsworth's praise of Duty, Milton's voice,
Prophetic harbinger of Liberty,
Or the deep warnings Shakespeare holds for those
Who know not Character is twin to Fate?
Some boast the richness of their canvases
Who love not Art, whose wrinkled scrutiny
Has never found the sentient Truth that lies
Hid in the colors. Casual flatterers
Beauty eludes, but hastens to her lovers.
She came, the first, from Chaos, to deny
Its power and bring celestial happiness
Decreed to those who know, and keep, her laws.

Repose and peace and safety — whence come they
But from the ordered mind? To level calm
The passing storms of Violence must subside;
Even the earthquake ruins are rebuilt
On the foundations of the treasured Past.
One royal line shall never be dethroned —
Imagination's endless lineage,
In turn illustrious child and sire of Art!