He strove to throw the magic of his
spirit over me with all his power. For hours we walked, the light, pale
green of the renewing year about us. But through it all I saw what he
was trying to effect ... to impress me so deeply that I would not only
forgive him for having stolen my poem, but actually thank him, for
having used it--even consider it a mark of honour ... which his
eloquence almost persuaded me to do.
Indeed I saw the true greatness in "John" ... but I also saw and
resented the petty, cruel pilferer--stealing helpless, unknown, youthful
genius for his own--resented it even more because the resources of the
man's nature did not require it of him to descend to such pitiful
expedients. He was rich enough in himself for his own fame and glory.
And why should he rob a young poet of his first fame, of the exquisite
pleasure of seeing his name for the first time in print? ... than which
there is no pleasure more exquisite ... not even the first possession of
a loved woman!...
We had almost returned to the "Artworks" before I tried to let loose on
him ... but even then I could not. Gently I asked him why he had not
affixed my name to my poem.
He looked at me with well-simulated amazement.
"Why, Razorre, I never even thought of it ... we are all a part of one
community of endeavour here ... and we all give our efforts as a
contribution to the Eos Idea .
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