Classic Poem

Today we stand at a new shrine of Art
Honored by gracious friends from many lands,
The oldest and the youngest of a guild
Bound in the brotherhood of the Ideal.
In these twin monuments we are the guests
Of one, a Medicean friend of Beauty,
Whose name, untrumpeted, might I but whisper it,
Would add a melody to these halting lines; —
A poet, in despite of his reserve; —
A scholar, reveling in vellum tomes; —
A prince, who doth his benefits confer
As though he did receive them; modest, wise,
And generous beyond the reach of envy.
Since one gives life to what his faith begins,
His are these portals we now dedicate,
Wrought by a colleague, of his happy choice.

'Twas not by chance this honor was confided
To one who might have dwelt in Italy
When Tuscan sages paced the serried pines
Of calm Camaldoli, their Academe, —
When human and divine were blent in Art
And all the arts were blended. Such the grace,
The tenderness, the flowing harmony
The hand of Adams borrowed from his soul.
Should we forget the Muses that we serve,
Our Hippocratic oath, should meaner aims
Obscure, like clouds, the glory of the stars,
Here we may gather from this breathing bronze
The strength of charm, the lasting charm of strength.
Here Drama ponders the mystery of Life,
Here murmurs Music, pulses Poetry,
Painting contem'plates, Sculpture haunts the verge
Of the inexpressible, and holds in leash
The wavering thought as fleeting as the wind.
Here, crowning all, pure Inspiration stands
Glowing with heavenly welcome for the True, —
Fame's gleaming heights reflected in her eyes.
O happy sculptor of enduring touch!
Create one other vision beautiful
To tell us that the Greeks who made the Muses
Yet left a lapse in their mythology:
One they forgot, most worthily the Tenth,
The Muse of Duty, daughter of Judah's line, —
Nobler than Eros, — Spiritual Love!