Ars Victrix

Yes; when the ways oppose — When the hard means rebel, Fairer the work outgrows, — More potent far the spell.

O POET, then, forbear The loosely-sandalled verse, Choose rather thou to wear The buskin — straight and terse;

Leave to the tiro’s hand The limp and shapeless style, See that thy form demand The labour of the file.

SCULPTOR, do thou discard The yielding clay, — consign To Paros marble hard The beauty of thy line; —

Model thy Satyr’s face In bronze of Syracuse; In the veined agate trace The profile of thy Muse.

PAINTER, that still must mix But transient tints anew, Thou in the furnace fix The firm enamel’s hue;

Let the smooth tile receive Thy dove-drawn Erycine; Thy Sirens blue at eve Coiled in a wash of wine.

All passes. A RT alone Enduring stays to us; The Bust outlasts the throne, — The Coin, Tiberius;

Even the Gods must go; Only the lofty Rhyme Not countless years o’erthrow, — Not long array of time.

Paint, chisel, then, or write; But, that the work surpass, With the hard fashion fight, — With the resisting mass.

L’Art Искусство (Готье/Брюсов) Искусство (Готье/Гумилёв)