To Ambrose Bierce

I saw a statue in the market-place-- The guerdon of a life of noble toil. Austerely shone the marble that should foil Oblivion, tho’ the desecrated base, Round which the sullen huckster trod, bore trace Of dogs’ defilement--transitory moil That expiating rains would soon assoil; But oh, the sunlight on that tranquil face!

What to the Titan were the mindless deed, Mire-born, and swiftly with the mire made one? No more than could the marble couldst thou heed The mongrel, and the hate of souls uncouth-- Thou eagle who hast gazed upon the sun And canst endure the light which is the truth!