Classic Poem

If ever this book (as Art from Thought and Sorrow)
Shall lie for sale (with Dante) in the shops,
Public (like chimes in spires) to fools and fops,
Then I must front new martyrdoms to-morrow;
Old tongues will shout: “Aside from shameless lies,
You've thieved the hearth-fire from our household gods,
Outraging private fates and sacred ties.” …
And those same tongues (awhile) shall have the odds …
Yet is the story mine … because the pain …
Was mine … the mastery of pain was mine …
And mine the shaping instinct and endeavor:
This were Art's right of eminent domain,
Even had that House itself, on seal and line,
Not canceled the ties … all ties … with me … forever.