<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409377" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>By The Fireside : Gaspar Becerra</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">By his evening fire the artist<br>Pondered o'er his secret shame;<br>Baffled, weary, and disheartened,<br>Still he mused, and dreamed of fame. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'T was an image of the Virgin<br>That had tasked his utmost skill;<br>But, alas! his fair ideal<br>Vanished and escaped him still. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">From a distant Eastern island<br>Had the precious wood been brought<br>Day and night the anxious master<br>At his toil untiring wrought; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Till, discouraged and desponding,<br>Sat he now in shadows deep,<br>And the day's humiliation<br>Found oblivion in sleep. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then a voice cried, 'Rise, O master!<br>From the burning brand of oak<br>Shape the thought that stirs within thee!'<br>And the startled artist woke,-- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Woke, and from the smoking embers<br>Seized and quenched the glowing wood;<br>And therefrom he carved an image,<br>And he saw that it was good. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O thou sculptor, painter, poet!<br>Take this lesson to thy heart:<br>That is best which lieth nearest;<br>Shape from that thy work of art.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Wadsworth+Longfellow">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409377" data-title="By The Fireside : Gaspar Becerra de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" data-description="By his evening fire the artist Pondered o'er his secret shame; Baffled, weary, and disheartened, Still he mused, and dreamed of fame. 'T was an image of the Virgin That had tasked his utmost skill; But, alas! his fair ideal Vanished and escaped ..."></div> </div> </div>

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