I br br Yes! Beauty still rebels! br Our dreams like clouds disperse: br She dwells br In agate, marble, verse. br br No false constraint be thine! br But, for right walking, choose br The fine, br The strict cothurnus, Muse. br br Vainly ye seek to escape br The toil! The yielding phrase br Ye shape br Is clay, not chrysoprase. br br And all in vain ye scorn br That seeming ease which ne’er br Was born br Of aught but love and care. br br Take up the sculptor’s tool! br Recall the gods that die br To rule br In Parian o’er the sky. br br II br br Poet, let passion sleep br Till with the cosmic rhyme br You keep br Eternal tone and time, br br By rule of hour and flower, br By strength of stern restraint br And power br To fail and not to faint. br br The task is hard to learn br While all the songs of Spring br Return br Along the blood and sing. br br Yet hear—from her deep skies, br How Art, for all your pain, br Still cries br Ye must be born again! br br Reject the wreath of rose, br Take up the crown of thorn br That shows br To-night a child is born. br br The far immortal face br In chosen onyx fine br Enchase, br Delicate line by line. br br Strive with Carrara, fight br With Parian, till there steal br To light br Apollo’s pure profile. br br Set the great lucid form br Free from its marble tomb br To storm br The heights of death and doom. br br Take up the sculptor’s tool! br Recall the gods that die br To rule br In Parian o’er the sky.