The Work Of Art May Have A

Colors Are Light's Suffering And Joy

The Bed Of Flowers Loosens Amain, The Beauteous Snowdrops Droop O'er The Plain. The Crocus Opens Its Glowing Bud, Like Emeralds Others, Others, Like Blood. With Saucy Gesture Primroses Flare, And Roguish Violets, Hidden With Care; And Whatsoever There Stirs And Strives, The Spring's Contented, If Works And Thrives.

If You Have A Great Work In Your Head, Nothing Else Thrives Near It; All Other Thoughts Are Repelled, And The Pleasure Of Life Itself Is For The Time Lost.

Gifts Come From Above In Their Own Peculiar Forms.

Tomorrow Sees Undone, What Happens Not To-day; Still Forward Press, Nor Never Tire! The Possible, With Steadfast Trust, Resolve Should Be By The Forelock Grasp. Then She Will Ne'er Let Go Her Clasp, And Labors On, Because She Must.