How blind the toil that burrows like the mole, <br />In winding graveyard pathways underground, <br />For Browning's lineage! What if men have found <br />Poor footmen or rich merchants on the roll <br />Of his forbears? Did they beget his soul? <br />Nay, for he came of ancestry renowned <br />Through all the world, -- the poets laurel-crowned <br />With wreaths from which the autumn takes no toll. <br /> <br />The blazons on his coat-of-arms are these: <br />The flaming sign of Shelley's heart on fire, <br />The golden globe of Shakespeare's human stage, <br />The staff and scrip of Chaucer's pilgrimage, <br />The rose of Dante's deep, divine desire, <br />The tragic mask of wise Euripides.<br /><br />Henry Van Dyke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/robert-browning/
