23.07.2007, 10:33
Hell's self shall mock a brain that daily smears
Canvases thus in vision-tortured strife
To draw some beauty from the bitter years
And cast some glow on man's misshapen life,--
And then, a-sudden, he who thought to give
His forms a beauty alien to man's clay,
Finds in one form that seems to breathe and live
Such fairness that he throws his brush away!
The recreant priest may some day be forgiven;
The soldier who has fled yet hopes to win;
The rich man shall perchance creep into heaven;
Tannhäuser still may purge him of his sin:--
But I misdoubt if any blossoms start
On his dead staff who has betrayed his art.
Canvases thus in vision-tortured strife
To draw some beauty from the bitter years
And cast some glow on man's misshapen life,--
And then, a-sudden, he who thought to give
His forms a beauty alien to man's clay,
Finds in one form that seems to breathe and live
Such fairness that he throws his brush away!
The recreant priest may some day be forgiven;
The soldier who has fled yet hopes to win;
The rich man shall perchance creep into heaven;
Tannhäuser still may purge him of his sin:--
But I misdoubt if any blossoms start
On his dead staff who has betrayed his art.