Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE PROGRESS OF ART, by THOMAS HOOD Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: O happy time! Art's early days! Last Line: As nothing to the young! Subject(s): Art & Artists; Paintings & Painters; Rembrandt Harmensz Van Riij (1606-1669); Youth | ||||||||
I. O HAPPY time! Art's early days! When o'er each deed, with sweet self-praise, Narcissus-like I hung! When great Rembrandt but little seem'd, And such Old Masters all were deem'd As nothing to the young! II. Some scratchy strokes -- abrupt and few, So easily and swift I drew, Sufficed for my design; My sketchy, superficial hand, Drew solids at a dash -- and spann'd A surface with a line. III. Not long my eye was thus content, But grew more critical -- my bent Essay'd a higher walk; I copied leaden eyes in lead -- Rheumatic hands in white and red, And gouty feet -- in chalk. IV. Anon my studious art for days Kept making faces -- happy phrase, For faces such as mine! Accomplish'd in the details then, I left the minor parts of men, And drew the form divine. V. Old Gods and Heroes -- Trojan -- Greek, Figures -- long after the antique, Great Ajax justly fear'd; Hectors, of whom at night I dreamt, And Nestor, fringed enough to tempt Bird-nesters to his beard. VI. A Bacchus, leering on a bowl, A Pallas, that out-stared her owl, A Vulcan -- very lame, A Dian stuck about with stars, With my right hand I murder'd Mars -- (One Williams did the same.) VII. But tired of this dry work at last, Crayon and chalk aside I cast, And gave my brush a drink! Dipping -- "as when a painter dips In gloom of earthquake and eclipse," -- That is -- in Indian ink. VIII. Oh then, what black Mont Blancs arose, Crested with soot, and not with snows: What clouds of dingy hue! In spite of what the bard has penn'd, I fear the distance did not "lend Enchantment to the view." IX. Not Radclyffe's brush did e'er design Black Forests, half so black as mine, Or lakes so like a pall; The Chinese cake dispers'd a ray Of darkness, like the light of Day And Martin over all. X. Yet urchin pride sustain'd me still, I gaz'd on all with right good will, And spread the dingy tint; "No holy Luke help'd me to paint, The devil surely, not a Saint, Had any finger in't!" XI. But colours came! -- like morning light, With gorgeous hues displacing night, Or Spring's enliven'd scene: At once the sable shades withdrew; My skies got very, very blue; My trees extremely green. XII. And wash'd by my cosmetic brush, How Beauty's cheek began to blush With lock of auburn stain -- (Not Goldsmith's Auburn) -- nut-brown hair, That made her loveliest of the fair; Not "loveliest of the plain!" XIII. Her lips were of vermilion hue; Love in her eyes, and Prussian blue, Set all my heart in flame A young Pygmalion, I ador'd The maids I made -- but time was stor'd With evil -- and it came! XIV. Perspective dawn'd -- and soon I saw My houses stand against its law; And "keeping" all unkept! My beauties were no longer things For love and fond imaginings; But horrors to be wept! XV. Ah! why did knowledge ope my eyes? Why did I get more artist-wise? It only serves to hint, What grave defects and wants are mine; That I'm no Hilton in design -- In nature no Dewint! XVI. Thrice happy time! -- Art's early days! When o'er each deed, with sweet self-praise, Narcissus-like I hung! When great Rembrandt but little seem'd, And such Old Masters all were deem'd As nothing to the young! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BETWEEN THE WARS by ROBERT HASS THE GOLDEN SHOVEL by TERRANCE HAYES ALONG WITH YOUTH by ERNEST HEMINGWAY THE BLACK RIVIERA by MARK JARMAN |
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