Menella Bute Smedley (Менелла Бьют Смедли)
A Character
So noble that he cannot see He stands in aught above the rest, But does his greatness easily, And mounts his scaffold with a jest; Not vaunting any daily death, Because he scorns the thing that dies, And not in love with any breath That might proclaim him grand or wise. Not much concerned with schemes that show The counterchange of weak with strong, But never passing by a woe, Nor sitting still to watch a wrong. Of all hearts careful save his own; Most tender when he suffers most; Wont, if a foe must be o'erthrown, To count, but never grudge the cost. Sharp insight, severing with a glance Greater from less, from substance shade; Faith, in gross darkness of mischance Unable to be much afraid; Out-looking eyes that seek and scan, Ready to love what they behold; Quick reverence for his brother-man; Quick sense where gilding is not gold. Such impulse in his self-control, It seems a voluntary grace, The careless grandeur of a soul That holds no mirror to its face. True sympathy, a light that grows And broadens like the summer morn's; A hope that trusts before it knows, Being out of tune with all the scorns. On-moving, temperately intent On radiant ends by means as bright, And never cautious, but content With all the bitter fruits of right. Under this shade the tired may lie, Worn with the greatness of their way; Under this shield the brave may die, Aware that they have won the day. For such a leader lifts his times Out of the limits of the night, And, falling grandly, while he climbs, Falls with his face toward the height.
Menella Bute Smedley’s other poems:
- Wooden Legs
- A Meeting
- The Story of Queen Isabel
- The Little White Doe
- An Anniversary (On the seventh of September, two little years gone by)
Poems of other poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):
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