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As I was carving images from clouds,
And tinting them with soft ethereal dyes Pressed from the pulp of dreams, one comes, and cries:-- "Forbear!" and all my heaven with gloom enshrouds. "Forbear!" Thou hast no tools wherewith to essay The delicate waves of that elusive grain: Wouldst have due recompense of vulgar pain? The potter's wheel for thee, and some coarse clay! "So work, if work thou must, O humbly skilled! Thou hast not known the Master; in thy soul His spirit moves not with a sweet control; Thou art outside, and art not of the guild." Thereat I rose, and from his presence passed, But, going, murmured:--"To the God above, Who holds my heart, and knows its store of love, I turn from thee, thou proud iconoclast." Then on the shore God stooped to me, and said:-- "He spake the truth: even so the springs are set That move thy life, nor will they suffer let, Nor change their scope; else, living, thou wert dead. "This is thy life: indulge its natural flow, And carve these forms. They yet may find a place On shelves for them reserved. In any case, I bid thee carve them, knowing what I know." Unsatisfied? Search for more:Other Cool Sites:Hot Arts & Stage NewsLyrics Catalogue Sound Tracks Guide Guide to Serials and Shows English Subtitles For DivX Movies Hundreds of Cooking Recipes Over 5000 Cocktails Recipes Cool Online Encyclopedia Cellulars Descriptions and Reviews Algorithms Dictionary Funny Jokes and Anecdotes. Usenet Newsgroups Reader |