ALL finest art is seen In forms that foil the blade Unkeen— Verse, marble, gem inlaid. All idle bonds refuse! Yet, so thou move aright, Bind, Muse, Thy limbs in buskins tight. Spurn the too supple lilt That like an easy boot Is built For any random foot. Thou sculptor, cast aside The clay thy hands alone Have plied, Thy spirit elsewhere flown. Strive with the marble rough Hewn from Carraran steeps,— Such stuff The perfect contour keeps. From Syracuse her bronze Take thou, thereon imprest The sconce Of proud or yielding gest. With deftest hand go trace Over the agate rare The face Apollo once did wear. Painter, all tints refuse That fade; but pass thro' fire The hues So fixt to thy desire. Call up the syrens blue With loopéd tails entwined Ensue With beasts of mythic kind. Above the world enthrone Christ and the Maid Divine; Each one Girt with the holy sign. Though all things end in dust, Yet Art well-wrought lives on; The bust Outlasts the city gone. The buried coin or ring Dug up by some poor hind, May bring An Emperor to mind; And lines of perfect sound, Though Gods themselves may pass, Are found More durable than brass. Hew down and chisel fine, So that thy dream be sealed For sign In stuff that will not yield! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: OSCAR HUMMEL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS BALLAD by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY INVOCATION [TO LOVE] by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN FRIENDS BEYOND by THOMAS HARDY PRESENTIMENT by AMBROSE BIERCE ON THE DEATH OF ALEXANDER, EMPEROR OF THE RUSSIAS by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD IN THE DARK by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN |