Aug 272011
 

Not the politician in his coterie
Surmounting an elaborate chair---
A simple, elegant glass
Choked in his unconscious fist,
Nor revolutionary lunatic
Standing tip-toe on the quay
To out-face the beating sea
(And has not the courage
To stand half at ease)
Has a fanatic eye
Or golden stomach enough
To sweat out the divine
Night after night, or lick
From all this tragic human stuff
Some shrinking taste
Of the glittering sublime.

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