YET words though weak are all that poets own Wherewith their muse translates that kindred muse Of Harmony, whose subtle forms and hues Float in the unlanguaged poesy of Tone. And so no true-souled artist stands alone; But all are brothers, though one hand may use A magic wand the others must refuse, And painters need no sculptor's Parian stone. If Art is long, yet is her province wide. While all for truth and beauty live and dare, One sacred temple covers all her sons. Music and Poesy stand side by side. Through every member one blood-current runs: One aim, one work, one destiny they share. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO GOD THE FATHER by KATHERINE MANSFIELD A LETTER TO A POLICEMAN IN KANSAS CITY by KENNETH PATCHEN THE WANDERER: A ROCOCO STUDY (FIRST VERSION) by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THE CHILD ALONE: 4. PICTURE-BOOKS IN WINTER by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE LEPER by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE by ALFRED TENNYSON TWELVE SONNETS: 1. THY SWEETNESS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |