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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529385" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Opifex</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">As I was carving images from clouds,<br> And tinting them with soft ethereal dyes<br> Pressed from the pulp of dreams, one comes, and cries:--<br> "Forbear!" and all my heaven with gloom enshrouds.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> "Forbear!" Thou hast no tools wherewith to essay<br> The delicate waves of that elusive grain:<br> Wouldst have due recompense of vulgar pain?<br> The potter's wheel for thee, and some coarse clay!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> "So work, if work thou must, O humbly skilled!<br> Thou hast not known the Master; in thy soul<br> His spirit moves not with a sweet control;<br> Thou art outside, and art not of the guild."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Thereat I rose, and from his presence passed,<br> But, going, murmured:--"To the God above,<br> Who holds my heart, and knows its store of love,<br> I turn from thee, thou proud iconoclast."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Then on the shore God stooped to me, and said:--<br> "He spake the truth: even so the springs are set<br> That move thy life, nor will they suffer let,<br> Nor change their scope; else, living, thou wert dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> "This is thy life: indulge its natural flow,<br> And carve these forms. They yet may find a place<br> On shelves for them reserved. In any case,<br> I bid thee carve them, knowing what I know."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Thomas+Edward+Brown">Thomas Edward Brown</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=529385" data-title="Opifex de Thomas Edward Brown" data-description="As I was carving images from clouds, And tinting them with soft ethereal dyes Pressed from the pulp of dreams, one comes, and cries:-- "Forbear!" and all my heaven with gloom enshrouds. "Forbear!" Thou hast no tools wherew..."></div> </div> </div>
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