Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/293

Rh To mimic Nature s surface. I name not The servile copyists of the greater masters, Or of th archangels, Raphael and Michael; But such as paint our cheap and daily marvels. Sometimes I fear lest they degrade our art To a nice craft for plodding artisans Mere realism, which they mistake for truth. My soul rejects such limits. The true artist Gives Nature s best effects with far less means. Plain black and white suffice him to express A finer grace, a stronger energy Than she attains with all the aid of color. I argue thus and work with simple tools, Like the Greek fathers of our art the sculptors, Who wrought in white alone their matchless types. Then dazzled by the living bloom of earth, Glowing with color, I return to that, My earliest worship, and compose such work As you see there. {Pointing to the picture.

Would it be overmuch, In my brief stay in Naples, to beg of you A portrait of myself in aqua-fortis? T would rob you, sir, of fewer golden hours Than the full-colored canvas, and enrich With a new treasure our royal gallery.