| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Rodin | | By Richard Butler Glaenzer |
| | | COLD bronze he has made articulate, | |
| More scorching in its eloquence than the flames | |
| That melted it to his will of fire; | |
| Cold marble he has made compassionate, | |
| Wisdom unfathomable which understands | 5 |
| All pain, all dread, all hunger, all desire; | |
| Cold clay he has made animate, | |
| Life that exclaims: | |
| “You are but babbling shells! I, life entire!” | |
| All these things he has done, this god, | 10 |
| Not as a god by sure austere commands; | |
| But by thinking, seeing, feeling, believing; | |
| By invincible patience and tireless hands; | |
| With a back of scorn for the self-deceiving; | |
| With faith’s disdain for The Day’s demands,— | 15 |
| A Titan self-made by his masterful mold, | |
| Who has fused into copper the meaning of gold, | |
| All the truth he could scan, | |
| All his ardor innate; | |
| Breathed his soul in each stone; poured his heart in each clod,— | 20 |
| A man, | |
| Who stands shoulder to shoulder with Fate. | |
| |
| Out of bronze and marble and clay, formless, cold, | |
| One man has given death the lie! | | | | |
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