YET words though weak are all that poets own Wherewith their muse translates that kindred muse Of Harmony, whose subtle forms and hues Float in the unlanguaged poesy of Tone. And so no true-souled artist stands alone; But all are brothers, though one hand may use A magic wand the others must refuse, And painters need no sculptor's Parian stone. If Art is long, yet is her province wide. While all for truth and beauty live and dare, One sacred temple covers all her sons. Music and Poesy stand side by side. Through every member one blood-current runs: One aim, one work, one destiny they share. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WEDDING BED IN MANGKUTANA by KAREN SWENSON ALAS! POOR QUEEN by MARION ANGUS HOPEFULLY WAITING by ANSON DAVIES FITZ RANDOLPH ENGLAND AND AMERICA: 1. ON A RHINE STEAMER by JAMES KENNETH STEPHEN THE WORMS AT HEAVEN'S GATE by WALLACE STEVENS THE DARK FOREST by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS |