"La vie sans air."
He worked among the dusty flasks alone.
No road half paved extended to left or right.
The thicket closed inward from every side,
And loneliness was never really sad
Much time to dream and muse on life and Man,
And truth is never lonely in the end.
How did he do it? We who ply his craft
Must wonder when the dusty door unlocked
And flooded all his lofty dreams with life.
The giants live alone in castles, green,
Or solemn caves untraveled to by man,
That is the ordinary breed of men.
We hold our praise with frugal greed unspent
And goad the genius to new heights and dreams
The smother him with gross inanities.
Better to languish lonely with your hopes,
No "come and go" of women with their soft
Conciliatory praise and empty pride,
No half-understanding men with callous phrase,
Careless consideration mixed with doubt,
For they would flush the hapless workers out
And bare the base inanities of life
To cover up the meaning of the dream.
Whether with wine or in the sad sick room
We wander side by side, O wondrous ghost
Of after dinner dreams that have come true,
Whether alone or in the crowded lab,
Hidden among retorts and flasks to share
One proud and envious moment with his dreams,
We toast you most magnificent of men,
Then wonder how and why? and dream with him.
Jay Cohen