With progress in action and feeling and thought
Outgrow the old charms, and make the world crave
New phases of art that the past never gave.
So I fear, when I see men striving to mold
The forms of the new after those that are old,
While all true life grows better and better,
That classical models a modern may fetter.
Small virtue has one with no hope in his heart,
And little of merit, if none in his art.
While only the light of a coming ideal