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Best Poems by
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Opifex by Thomas Edward Brown
As I was carving images from clouds, And tinting them with soft ethereal dyes Pressed from the pulp of dreams, one comes, and cries:-- 'Forbear!' and all my heaven with gloom enshrouds.
'Forbear!' Thou hast no tools wherewith to essay The delicate waves of that elusive grain: Wouldst have due recompense of vulgar pain? The potter's wheel for thee, and some coarse clay!
'So work, if work thou must, O humbly skilled! Thou hast not known the Master; in thy soul His spirit moves not with a sweet control; Thou art outside, and art not of the guild.'
Thereat I rose, and from his presence passed, But, going, murmured:--'To the God above, Who holds my heart, and knows its store of love, I turn from thee, thou proud iconoclast.'
Then on the shore God stooped to me, and said:-- 'He spake the truth: even so the springs are set That move thy life, nor will they suffer let, Nor change their scope; else, living, thou wert dead.
'This is thy life: indulge its natural flow, And carve these forms. They yet may find a place On shelves for them reserved. In any case, I bid thee carve them, knowing what I know.'
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