Page:Maurine and Other Poems (1910).pdf/67

 To enter on the weary race for Fame, And if I failed to climb the dizzy height, To reach some point of excellence in art.

E’en as the Maker held earth incomplete, Till man was formed, and placed upon the sod, The perfect, living image of his God, All landscape scenes were lacking in my sight, Wherein the human figure had no part. In that, all lines of symmetry did meet— All hues of beauty mingle. So I brought Enthusiasm in abundance, thought, Much study, and some talent, day by day, To help me in my efforts to portray The wond’rous power, majesty and grace Stamped on some form, or looking from some face. This was to be my specialty: To take Human emotion for my theme, and make The unassisted form divine express Anger or Sorrow, Pleasure, Pain, Distress; And thus to build Fame’s monument above The grave of my departed hope and love. This is not Genius. Genius spreads its wings And soars beyond itself, or selfish things. Talent has need of stepping-stones: some cross, Some cheated purpose, some great pain or loss, Must lay the groundwork, and arouse ambition, Before it labours onward to fruition.

But, as the lark from beds of bloom will rise And sail and sing among the very skies, Still mounting near and nearer to the light, Impelled alone by love of upward flight, So Genius soars—it does not need to climb— Upon God-given wings, to heights sublime. Some sportman’s shot, grazing the singer’s throat, Some venomous assault of birds of prey, May speed its flight toward the realm of day, And tinge with triumph every liquid note. So deathless Genius mounts but higher yet, When Strife and Envy think to slay or fret.

There is no balking Genius. Only death Can silence it, or hinder. While there’s breath Or sense of feeling, it will spurn the sod, And lift itself to glory, and to God.