When Leonardo was a lad there was a certain set
Who snubbed him most outrageously - in fact, they snub him yet
He wasn't in the fashion, so he wasn't in the fold;
Before his death he was too new, and now he grows too old.
Because his art was new to them the snobs of Florence laughed;
And now, because he isn't new, the moderns scorn his craft.
'Da Vinci? Don't be crude, my dear! Call him an artist? Pshaw!
Why that old anachronism, so they say, knew how to draw!'
They have wandered thro' the ages, mouthing cliches as they go.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem