If Thou hadst been a sculptor, what a race Of forms divine had ever preached to men! Lo, I behold thy brow, all glorious then, (Its reflex dawning on the statue's face)...
"There, Buonarotti, stands thy statue. Take Possession of the form; inherit it; Go forth upon the earth in likeness fit; As with a trumpet-cry at morning, wake...
Some men I have beheld with wonderment, Noble in form and feature, God's design, In whom the thought must search, as in a mine, For that live soul of theirs, by which they went...
If Thou hadst been a painter, what fresh looks, What shining of pent glories, what new grace Had burst upon us from the great Earth's face! How had we read, as in new-languaged books,...
So if Thou hadst been scorned in human eyes, Too bright and near to be a glory then; If as Truth's artist, Thou hadst been to men A setter forth of strange divinities;...
But I have looked on pictures made by man, Wherein, at first, appeared but chaos wild; So high the art transcended, it beguiled The eye as formless, and without a plan; Until the spirit, brooding o'er, began...
And is not Earth thy living picture, where Thou utterest beauty, simple and profound, In the same form by wondrous union bound; Where one may see the first step of the stair,...
If Thou hadst been a Poet! On my heart The thought dashed. It recoiled, as, with the gift, Light-blinded, and joy-saddened, so bereft. And the hot fountain-tears, with sudden start,...
Thou wouldst have led us through the twilight land Where spirit shows by form, form is refined Away to spirit by transfiguring mind, Till they are one, and in the morn we stand;...
But as Thou earnest forth to bring the Poor, Whose hearts were nearer faith and verity, Spiritual childhood, thy philosophy,-- So taught'st the A, B, C of heavenly lore;...
The eye was shut in men; the hearing ear Dull unto deafness; nought but earthly things Had credence; and no highest art that flings A spirit radiance from it, like the spear...
So highest poets, painters, owe to Thee Their being and disciples; none were there, Hadst Thou not been; Thou art the centre where The Truth did find an infinite form; and she...
So, as Thou wert the seed and not the flower, Having no form or comeliness, in chief Sharing thy thoughts with thine acquaintance Grief; Thou wert despised, rejected in thine hour...
All divine artists, humble, filial, Turn therefore unto Thee, the poet's sun; First-born of God's creation, only done When from Thee, centre-form, the veil did fall, And Thou, symbol of all, heart, coronal,...
Men may pursue the Beautiful, while they Love not the Good, the life of all the Fair; Keen-eyed for beauty, they will find it where The darkness of their eyes hath power to slay...
And yet I fear lest men who read these lines, Should judge of them as if they wholly spake The love I bear Thee and thy holy sake; Saying: "He doth the high name wrong who twines...
The highest marble Sorrow vanishes Before a weeping child.[2] The one doth seem, The other is. And wherefore do we dream, But that we live? So I rejoice in this,...
Thou art before me, and I see no more Pilate or soldiers, but the purple flung Around the naked form the scourge had wrung, To naked Truth thus witnessing, before...
LORD, what I once had done with youthful might, Had I been from the first true to the truth, Grant me, now old, to do--with better sight, And humbler heart, if not the brain of youth;...
ALAS, my tent! see through it a whirlwind sweep! Moaning, poor Fancy's doves are swept away. I sit alone, a sorrow half asleep, My consciousness the blackness all astir....