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Deem not that prayer or sacrifice Will ever cause the work to end! Serene, sufficient, let it rise Alone; it doth not ask a friend, © Nor shall it bend a fatuous knee To a fantastic deity. What crest or chrism were so good To work as Art, the crown upon Work’s brow? Thy will with love endued Lift up this loftier Parthenon! Thine art the consecrative oil To hallow us the Tower of Toil! 19
FRONTISPIECE RODIN ERE is a man! For all the world to see His work stands, shaming Nature. Clutched, combined In the sole still centre of a master-mind, The Egyptian force, the Greek simplicity, The Celtic subtlety. Through suffering free, The calm great courage of new art, refined In nervous majesty, indwells behind The beauty of each radiant harmony. Titan! the little centuries drop back, Back from the contemplation. Stand and span With one great grip his cup, the Zodiac! Distil from all time’s art his wine, the truth! Drink, drink the mighty…
…it may be He shall discover me the great excuse For an ill world ill shapen by ill hands, For unit joy and misery ten score, For all his work’s complaint; I think that He, Twitching His fearful fingers, may let loose This answer: Thus a kiss I brought to being Which by no other way were possible. Measure, O man! Balance with eyes true seeing If I were right or no to have made Hell! Then would He stand forgiven—nay! acquitted! I, as I look on this tight coil of bliss, Swift clasp of Rodin’s magical mind love-witted, See all creation fade; abide,…
…ssible because Rodin is the master and not the slave of his colossal technique. The difficulty of naming a masterpiece is perhaps harder work than producing it, and Rodin being a sculptor and not an illicit epigram distiller, is perfectly justified in picking up what he can from the witty and gifted people who throng his studio as much as he will let them. Let there be an end, then, not to the sordid and snarling jealousy which greatness must inevitably excite, not to the simian tooth-grindings which must always accompany the entrance of a man …
…an easily sculp himself a tabernacle and go in with Whistler—and even drag in Velasquez: but here am I illustrating, however feebly, the Works, eootry: and poetry cannot, unfortunately, ever be pure technique. I have long wished to write “A Sonnet in W. and P.” (with Whip as the keynote); a triolet in U. and K.; an ode in S. Sh. Sw. Sp. and Str. —and so on; but people would merely say “Nonsense Verses” (so they do now, some of them!). So that my work is liable to the most vital misinterpretation. My best friend tells the utterly false, utterly …
…nwashen and oleaginous individuals who are a kind of Mérodack-Jauneau without the Mérodack, ie., without the gleam of intention in their work which to the lay mind redeems even the most grotesque imbecility of technique, and the most fatu@s ignorance of all subjects connected or unconnected with art. By philosophy he understands “Science and Health”: by poetry Lake Harris or Eric Mackay: he expects a painting to tell a pretty story or to upset a metaphysical position. His conversation is like that of Planchette: or if William Horton were vocal …