Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/170

Rh Which would be better loved and understood As years glide silent by the multitude, And which would in the course of time command The homage due unto the master-hand.

Greek lapidaries of an age long past, Who wrought works delicate for aye to last, Whose skilful fingers on the agate cut Venus and Hebe, and where rocks abut Over the waters, Sappho with her lyre, Sculptors minute, whose wonders never tire, Artists in truth, and nature's worshippers, Who jousted like to brave knight-jewellers To win the honours of the highest place For bold conception, delicacy, grace! Ah, that I also had the tool and hand Which graves a profile from the heavenly land, Or a fair figure, such as sometimes gleams Athwart a poet's or a virgin's dreams! I would have made an ornamental seal Big as a thumb-nail, with a madman's zeal And unremitting labour, all alone, Upon a bit of ivory or stone. I would have staked mine art, my chance of fame, In richly working out my thought and aim, And left behind an everlasting gem, Large as a peach-stone, worth a diadem! We die now from redundance and excess, Elixirs and perfumes are spiritless Unless condensed; diffuse thoughts need a press. I should collect the tear, though hard my part, That filters from a suffering broken heart, Then like a fly in amber it should shine, Placed in its frame, as in a sacred shrine,