Clarence Darrow

This is Darrow,

Inadequately scrawled, with his young, old heart,

And his drawl, and his infinite paradox

And his sadness, and kindness,

And his artist sense that drives him to shape his life

To something harmonious, even against the schemes of God.

                  --Edgar Lee Masters (1922)

On a Bust

A giant as we hoped, in truth, a dwarf;

A barrel of slop that shines on Lethe's wharf',

Which at first seemed a vessel with sweet wine

For thirsty lips. So down the swift decline

You went through sloven spirit, craven heart

And cynic indolence. And here the art

Of molding clay has caught you for the nonce

And made your shame our shame-- Your head in bronze!

                      --Edgar Lee Masters (1916)

Darrow 2 (unpublished)

This is a man with an old face, always old...

There was pathos, in his face, and in his eyes.

The early weariness; and sometimes tears in his eyes,

Which he let slip unconsciously on his cheek,

Or brushed away with an unconcerned hand.

There were tears for human suffering, or for a glance

Into the vast futility of life,

Which he had seen from the first, being old

When he was born.

                           --Edgar Lee Masters (1922)