Poet, don’t prize the love of people.
The momentary hum of excited praise will pass.
You will hear fool’s judgement and laughter of the cold crowd,
But you, stay firm, calm and sullen.
You are a king: live alone. Along the free path
Go wherever your free mind is leading you.
Improving the fruits of your favorite thoughts,
Not demanding rewards for your noble feat.
They are inside you. You are your own high court;
You are able to judge your work stricter than anyone.
You, the exacting artist, are satisfied with it?
Satisfied? So let the crowd condemn it
And spit on the altar where your fire burn,
And, in its childish playfulness, shake your tripod.*
* An allusion to the Delphic oracle
