A BAS-RELIEF.
CUT out against the gray of winter's sky,
In bas-relief, great Titian's head in stone.
The winds about the cornice sob and moan,
And men below in shivering groups go by.
The snows, like pure, white mantles outspread lie.
The head of Titian watches there alone
Scenes from the great life-drama once his own;
While there for rest the storm-worn sparrows fly.
A nook for sparrows in a stormy day!
A name men seldom speak their whole life long!
Is this what comes of honor, glory, fame?
Is this the end? Who wise enough to say?
These the fair laurels that to fame belong,
A rest for storm-tired birds, a hollow name?
In bas-relief, great Titian's head in stone.
The winds about the cornice sob and moan,
And men below in shivering groups go by.
The snows, like pure, white mantles outspread lie.
The head of Titian watches there alone
Scenes from the great life-drama once his own;
While there for rest the storm-worn sparrows fly.
A nook for sparrows in a stormy day!
A name men seldom speak their whole life long!
Is this what comes of honor, glory, fame?
Is this the end? Who wise enough to say?
These the fair laurels that to fame belong,
A rest for storm-tired birds, a hollow name?