SO (USA / )

At The Tomb Of Napoleon

I stood beside his sepulchre whose fame,
Hurled over Europe once on bolt and blast,
Now glows far off as storm-clouds overpast
Glow in the sunset flushed with glorious flame.
Has Nature marred his mould? Can Art acclaim
No hero now, no man with whom men side
As with their hearts' high needs personified?
There are will say, One such our lips could name;
Columbia gave him birth. Him Genius most
Gifted to rule. Against the world's great man
Lift their low calumny and sneering cries
The Pharisaic multitude, the host
Of piddling slanderers whose little eyes
Know not what greatness is and never can.

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Comments (4)

When I awoke to find this on my pillow, that you thought this of me.
Good and well-measured!
Thanks, Allan. I was very happy with it. And I was verry happy when I wrote it, too.
Sandra this poem is very good, it has flow and good content did you feel happy with the poem, when you wrote it, that is the most important aspect kind regard's AJS