Vi

Tolstoy is great in art, in thought not great. Yet his thought troubles, oft-times shivering through With icy barb the best that thought can do. And when we ponder o’er his latter state, And note its argument, backed by the fate That marked his greatness down, we feel here too That Something elemental, vast and true To which all things at length capitulate. And ye who sadly ponder to behold The ruin of such greatness, grieved to see How the child in him acted, thought and spoke, Perchance will wonder, when the tale is told, Whether ’twas not a mightier Thing than he On which the Titan stumbled when he broke.

HESEPE, 24th May