 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
288
SONNETS.
Like statue monolithic, Parian
Fine marble, usque ad unguem wrought, should be
The Sonnet. Genius in the block can see,
As in a womb, the perfect shape, and scan
The fashioning of the as yet unborn Man!
The fetter's links it plays with, moves in, free
As natural body; in epitome
Things greatest showing, as “to scale” a plan.
As in a drawing where few inches show
A temple's dome, hung like a cloud on high,
And portals wide, suggestion thence doth grow,
Till th' inner see all as the outer eye;
To poem may expand a sonnet so,
Th' horizon widening out perspectively.
Fine marble, usque ad unguem wrought, should be
The Sonnet. Genius in the block can see,
As in a womb, the perfect shape, and scan
The fashioning of the as yet unborn Man!
The fetter's links it plays with, moves in, free
As natural body; in epitome
Things greatest showing, as “to scale” a plan.
As in a drawing where few inches show
A temple's dome, hung like a cloud on high,
And portals wide, suggestion thence doth grow,
Till th' inner see all as the outer eye;
To poem may expand a sonnet so,
Th' horizon widening out perspectively.
Then, Reader, vilipend not these as small
In singleness, appraisèd one by one;
But make thy mind a lens. As with the sun
We make the rays into a focus fall,
Which, scattered, else give little heat at all,
So let these mental rays in union
Give thee the force collective and the tone
Of Mind, and that the measure of each call.
Who would misprize the dread volcano's might,
Which fused the rock and heaved it into air,
As small, because a pumice-stone is light?
Or mock the wave, because it brought to bear
Its crystal touch to glaze a pebble bright?
Though small the things, the central force is there.
In singleness, appraisèd one by one;
But make thy mind a lens. As with the sun
We make the rays into a focus fall,
Which, scattered, else give little heat at all,
So let these mental rays in union
Give thee the force collective and the tone
Of Mind, and that the measure of each call.
Who would misprize the dread volcano's might,
Which fused the rock and heaved it into air,
As small, because a pumice-stone is light?
Or mock the wave, because it brought to bear
Its crystal touch to glaze a pebble bright?
Though small the things, the central force is there.
| Stones from The Quarry | |