Page:The man against the sky; a book of poems.djvu/62

 If he shall ever be the Duke of Stratford. And my words are no shadow on your town— Far from it; for one town's as like another As all are unlike London. Oh, he knows it,— And there's the Stratford in him; he denies it, And there's the Shakespeare in him. So, God help him! I tell him he needs Greek; but neither God Nor Greek will help him. Nothing will help that man. You see the fates have given him so much, He must have all or perish,—or look out Of London, where he sees too many lords; They're part of half what ails him: I suppose There's nothing fouler down among the demons Than what it is he feels when he remembers The dust and sweat and ointment of his calling