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EGO DOMINUS TUUS
Ille
His art is happy but who knows his mind?
I see a schoolboy when I think of him,
With face and nose pressed to a sweet-shop window,
For certainly he sank into his grave
His senses and his heart unsatisfied,
And made—being poor, ailing and ignorant,
Shut out from all the luxury of the world,
The coarse-bred son of a livery stablekeeper—
Luxuriant song.
Hic
Why should you leave the lamp
Burning alone beside an open book.
And trace these characters upon the sands;
A style is found by sedentary toil
And by the imitation of great masters.
