The shapeless masses—the materials—
Lie every where about us. What we need
Is the celestial fire to change the flint
Into transparent crystal, bright and clear.
That fire is Genius! The rude peasant sits
At evening in his smoky cot, and draws
With charcoal uncouth figures on the wall.
The man of genius comes, foot-sore with travel,
And begs a shelter from the inclement night.
He takes the charcoal from the peasant’s hand,