<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409671" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Artist. (Sonnet I.)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nothing the greatest artist can conceive<br>That every marble block doth not confine<br>Within itself; and only its design<br>The hand that follows intellect can achieve.<br>The ill I flee, the good that I believe,<br>In thee, fair lady, lofty and divine,<br>Thus hidden lie; and so that death be mine<br>Art, of desired success, doth me bereave.<br>Love is not guilty, then, nor thy fair face,<br>Nor fortune, cruelty, nor great disdain,<br>Of my disgrace, nor chance, nor destiny,<br>If in thy heart both death and love find place<br>At the same time, and if my humble brain,<br>Burning, can nothing draw but death from thee.</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=409671" data-title="The Artist. (Sonnet I.) de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" data-description="Nothing the greatest artist can conceive That every marble block doth not confine Within itself; and only its design The hand that follows intellect can achieve. The ill I flee, the good that I believe, In thee, fair lady, lofty and divine, Thus h..."></div> </div> </div>

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