  Shaping thy life what if the stubborn stuff Grudge to inform itself through each dull part With the soul’s high invention, and thy art Seem a defeated thing, and earth rebuff Heaven’s splendour, choosing darkness,—leave the rough Brute-parts unhewn. Toilest thou for the mart Or for the temple? Does the God see start Quick beauty from the block, it is enough. The spirit, foiled elsewhere, presses to the mouth, Disparts the lips, lives on the lighted brow, Fills the wide nostrils, flings the imperious chin Out proudly. Now behold! the lyric youth, The wrestler stooping in the act to win, Pythian Apollo with the vengeful bow. |
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