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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=518815" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Individuality.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sail on, sail on, fair cousin Cloud:<br>Oh loiter hither from the sea.<br>Still-eyed and shadow-brow'd,<br>Steal off from yon far-drifting crowd,<br>And come and brood upon the marsh with me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yon laboring low horizon-smoke,<br>Yon stringent sail, toil not for thee<br>Nor me; did heaven's stroke<br>The whole deep with drown'd commerce choke,<br>No pitiless tease of risk or bottomry</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Would to thy rainy office close<br>Thy will, or lock mine eyes from tears,<br>Part wept for traders'-woes,<br>Part for that ventures mean as those<br>In issue bind such sovereign hopes and fears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">-- Lo, Cloud, thy downward countenance stares<br>Blank on the blank-faced marsh, and thou<br>Mindest of dark affairs;<br>Thy substance seems a warp of cares;<br>Like late wounds run the wrinkles on thy brow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well may'st thou pause, and gloom, and stare,<br>A visible conscience: I arraign<br>Thee, criminal Cloud, of rare<br>Contempts on Mercy, Right, and Prayer, --<br>Of murders, arsons, thefts, -- of nameless stain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">(Yet though life's logic grow as gray<br>As thou, my soul's not in eclipse.)<br>Cold Cloud, but yesterday<br>Thy lightning slew a child at play,<br>And then a priest with prayers upon his lips</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For his enemies, and then a bright<br>Lady that did but ope the door<br>Upon the storming night<br>To let a beggar in, -- strange spite, --<br>And then thy sulky rain refused to pour</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Till thy quick torch a barn had burned<br>Where twelve months' store of victual lay,<br>A widow's sons had earned;<br>Which done, thy floods with winds returned, --<br>The river raped their little herd away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What myriad righteous errands high<br>Thy flames MIGHT run on! In that hour<br>Thou slewest the child, oh why<br>Not rather slay Calamity,<br>Breeder of Pain and Doubt, infernal Power?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or why not plunge thy blades about<br>Some maggot politician throng<br>Swarming to parcel out<br>The body of a land, and rout<br>The maw-conventicle, and ungorge Wrong?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What the cloud doeth<br>The Lord knoweth,<br>The cloud knoweth not.<br>What the artist doeth,<br>The Lord knoweth;<br>Knoweth the artist not?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well-answered! -- O dear artists, ye<br>-- Whether in forms of curve or hue<br>Or tone your gospels be --<br>Say wrong `This work is not of me,<br>But God:' it is not true, it is not true.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Awful is Art because 'tis free.<br>The artist trembles o'er his plan<br>Where men his Self must see.<br>Who made a song or picture, he<br>Did it, and not another, God nor man.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My Lord is large, my Lord is strong:<br>Giving, He gave: my me is mine.<br>How poor, how strange, how wrong,<br>To dream He wrote the little song<br>I made to Him with love's unforced design!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, not as clouds dim laws have plann'd<br>To strike down Good and fight for Ill, --<br>Oh, not as harps that stand<br>In the wind and sound the wind's command:<br>Each artist -- gift of terror! -- owns his will.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For thee, Cloud, -- if thou spend thine all<br>Upon the South's o'er-brimming sea<br>That needs thee not; or crawl<br>To the dry provinces, and fall<br>Till every convert clod shall give to thee</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Green worship; if thou grow or fade,<br>Bring on delight or misery,<br>Fly east or west, be made<br>Snow, hail, rain, wind, grass, rose, light, shade;<br>What matters it to thee? There is no thee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pass, kinsman Cloud, now fair and mild:<br>Discharge the will that's not thine own.<br>I work in freedom wild,<br>But work, as plays a little child,<br>Sure of the Father, Self, and Love, alone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Sidney+Lanier">Sidney Lanier</a><div class=q>
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<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=518815" data-title="Individuality. de Sidney Lanier" data-description="Sail on, sail on, fair cousin Cloud:
Oh loiter hither from the sea.
Still-eyed and shadow-brow'd,
Steal off from yon far-drifting crowd,
And come and brood upon the marsh with me.

Yon laboring low horizon-smoke,
Yon stringent sail, toil not for t..."></div>
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