Page:The Wild Swans at Coole.djvu/96

 80 By the help of an image I call to my own opposite, summon all That I have handled least, least looked upon.

And I would find myself and not an image.

That is our modern hope and by its light We have lit upon the gentle, sensitive mind And lost the old nonchalance of the hand; Whether we have chosen chisel, pen or brush We are but critics, or but half create, Timid, entangled, empty and abashed Lacking the countenance of our friends.