Ii

But Art made fierce reply, "Anathema, On you who fill flesh but the spirit scorn. Who give it to the unrequiting law Of your brute soullessness and heart unborn To aught than barter in your low bazaar-- Though Beauty die for it from star to star. You are the god of Judas and those who Betrayed Him unto nail and thorn and sword! Of that relentless worm-bit Florence horde Who drove lone Dante from them till he grew So great in death they begged his bones to strew Their pride and wealth and useless praise upon. Anathema! I cry; and will, till none Of all earth's children still shall worship you."