TO A YOUNG ARTIST.
The matchless artists of the olden time
Knew naught of critic’s jargon; to their toil
Bending as one that digs a stony soil,
Sparing nor bloom of youth nor manhood’s prime,
They caught and fixed their floating dreams sublime.
So must we shun all vain polemic broil,
Nor vex our souls with theories’ turmoil
If to ideal heights we fain would climb.
Our vintage time is speeding fast away,
The morning faileth; then with double will,
In spite of noonday glare or evening chill,
Gather the glowing clusters while we may.
So may our failing eyes see some faint beams
Shed o’er our work from our supernal dreams.
THE END.
Transcriber’s Note:
In poem “Shadows”, final stanza, “vail” changed to “veil”.
In poem “Twenty Years Ago”, penultimate stanza, “plantive” changed to “plaintive”.