Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/478

450 Not less than the sincere accomplishment.

We only know the art we see and love

Is beautiful, intense, most subtile, rare,

And tho' with something from our New World air

Athrill, yet is it masterful, above

All else, with the old mastery—not old

But fresh forever as the dawn's new gold.

And in your art, that follows down the line

Of the world's noblest,—the most high, divine

Kinship of them who painted the deep soul,—

Glows a clear, individual attribute;

Something whereof the praiser would be mute

Save that he needs must tell the very whole

And in his office utterly faithful be:

Something that means swift vision of the truth;

The flame of life; the flush of endless youth;

A trait compounded all of Poesy;

A tone most exquisite, illuminate

With the keen sense of Beauty which even art

Can lift above itself; a throbbing heart;

An element that sets the noonday beam

Vibrant with tints; that makes the little, great;

And while the artist would another render

Reveals his own bright spirit in radiant splendor.

IN TIMES OF PEACE

said: "When roll of drum and battle's roar

Shall cease upon the earth, O, then no more

"The deed, the race, of heroes in the land."

But scarce that word was breathed when one small hand

Lifted victorious o'er a giant wrong

That had its victims crushed through ages long;