No More Learning

Follow me if thou hast
And climb . . . oh! climb to the height. "


IV

So I followed him to his workshop
And stayed there a year and a year
Working under a master
Who praised me and held me dear,
Till at last a day arose
When, taking my hand in his own,
"You have my knowledge," he said,
"And now you must stand alone. "
And tho' I sorrowed to leave him
My heart was ready to sing,
So first in praise of the gods
I made for an offering
(Even as does a shepherd
His rustic altar of sods)
Bright forms larger than human
As mortals dream of the gods.
Then, in my strange world-worship,
The Tritons, Lords of the Sea,
The creatures which haunt the woodland,
Happy and shy and free,
Nymphs and satyrs and fauns
Who worship the great god Pan,
And lastly the mighty heroes
Who fashion the mind of man.


V

Thus thought I and thus wrought I,
And my power grew greater still.
I rose to the heights of passion
And sounded the depths of will,
Reaching out to the farthest
Winnowing down to the last,
Gazing into the future
And diving into the past.
Higher and ever higher
Like an eagle soared my art
And I praised the most high gods
Who made and set me apart.
And Prince and poet and painter
Travelled to touch my hand,
The minds which had toiled and suffered,
The minds which could understand,
Marvelling in my workshop
At the shining forms they saw. . . .
The children of my spirit
Born of a higher law.


VI

But last on a day in summer
(An evil day it seems)
I thought, "I will fashion a woman
As I have seen in dreams.
I, who never loved woman
That breathed and spoke and moved,
Will fashion a noble statue
To show what I could have loved;
A glorious naked figure
Untouched by time or fate,
A symbol of all that might be
And she shall be my mate.
Not mate of my crooked body,
Lean, misshapen and brown,
(No longer I feared my shadow
But walked a prince in the town)
But mate for my glorious spirit
Winging thro' shimmering heights,
On the viewless pinions of fancy
Where none can follow its flights. "
Thus was I moved in spirit
And wrought, a happy slave,
Striving to make the best
Of the gifts the high gods gave,
Fashioning out of the marble,
--And I knew my work was good--
The arms and the breasts and the thighs
And the glory of womanhood.


VII

Lo! the statue is finished.
Look how it stands serene
A woman with tender smile
And proud eyes of a queen!
Lo! the statue is perfect. . . .
Flower and crown of my life. . .