Lies my young love sleeping in the shade.
Had I the heart to slide an arm beneath her,
Press her parting lips, as her waist I gather slow,
Waking in amazement she could not but embrace me,
Then would she hold me and never let me go?”
The artist is primarily a temperament, but secondarily he is an artist, and his artistry, and the artistry of his art are what determine his greatness. Geniuses are born, and are made? But many are born, while few are made.
I think it is our duty to encourage greatness, even, if we, ourselves, have not the creative ability to imagine what we know.
MAXWELL E. FOSTER.