My flatmate’s portrait

I know the look that holds his head

Swinging heavily both ways: He

Sure thinks how hard it is to lead 

A lonely ecstasy where he,

And he only, knows true wisdom,

And he must save all men from doom.

 

The reason that I know his thoughts

Is that I have them too; we both

Believe there is no one that courts 

The highest sky of human growth

As the great work of artistry

That well will crown our industry. 

 

But in this we two differ: sure

He dreams his burden and bright scope

To be unique; while I endure

To share with him a prideful hope,

That at least says something valid

On which of us is a stupid.