Between the poets, artists, critios, all,
Who form a faction, or who found a school,
We weave Penelope s web with hearts of gall,
And my poor brain is oft the weary tool.
Yet do I choose this life. What is to me
Peace or good fame, away from all of these,
But living death? I do choose liberty,
And leave to Athens dames their soulless ease.
The time shall come, when Athens is no more,
And you and all your gods have passed away,
That other men, upon another shore,
Shall from your errors learn a better way.
To them eternal justice will reveal
Eternal truth, and in its better light
All that your legal falsehoods now conceal
Will stand forth clearly in the whole world's sight.
ON SAN FRANCISCO BAY.
O perfect day, O sunlit Bay,
Whene'er our souls are called to sail
The sunless strait where shadows wait,
May we emerge into a vale
Where Angel Islands guard the gate!
San Francisco, September 1886.
63
