The Artists

They have been born to model and to mould The shapeless clay into expressive form Even as gods! to seize the fleeting shades, The subtle hues of things that pass or stay And make them live and glow intensely.

They have been born to tell their wondrous dreams In rhythmic stanzas full of strength and grace, To plunge into the very depths of things, To seek the precious essence that is fit For distillation to symphonic strain.

Require them not to leave their sacred sphere, To mix with common vendors in the mart, To traffic their creations and to throw The priceless pearls of genius to the swine For but a bowl of vinegar and gall.

O bring to them the little bread and milk Which they must have to live, and if you can Rejoice to give them honey. Be to them What ravens were unto a prophet once.

Does not the beauty they create or dream Atone for all our ugly deeds or thoughts, Even as the saints who pray for those that sin Sustain the equilibrium that must be In order that the world may not be doomed?

Eternal malediction fall on those Who mock or crucify these chosen ones And let them be thrice blessed who help to clear Life's rugged road of thorns for those who pass And passing, leave this world more beautiful.