THE PHOENIX
"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 on Ferrara wall;
Or climbed among the images of the past,
Thy unperturbed and courtly images,
Evening and morn, 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 to meet my face,
[223]
