WE sneer and we laugh with the lip–the most of us do it,
Whenever a brother goes down like a weed with the tide;
We point with the finger and say–Oh, we knew it! we knew it!
But, see! we are better than he was, and we will abide.

He walked in the way of his will–the way of desire,
In the Appian way of his will without ever a bend;
He walked in it long, but it led him at last to the mire,–
But we who are stronger will stand and endure to the end.

His thoughts were all visions–all fabulous visions of flowers,
Of bird and of song and of soul which is only a song;
His eyes looked all at the stars in the firmament, ours
Were fixed on the earth at our feet, so we stand and are strong.

He hated the sight and the sound and the sob of the city;
He sought for his peace in the wood and the musical wave;
He fell, and we pity him never, and why should we pity–
Yea, why should we mourn for him–we who still stand, who are brave?

Thus speak we and think not, we censure unheeding, unknowing,–
Unkindly and blindly we utter the words of the brain;
We see not the goal of our brother, we see but his going,
And sneer at his fall if he fall, and laugh at his pain.

Ah, me! the sight of the sod on the coffin lid,
And the sound, and the sob, and the sigh of it as it falls!
Ah, me! the beautiful face forever hid
By four wild walls!

You hold it a matter for self-gratulation and praise
To have thrust to the dust to have trod on a heart that was true,–
To have ruined it there in the beauty and bloom of its days?
Very well! There is somewhere a Nemesis waiting for you.