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62 | In This Our World For all it wants is there,— Water and warmth and air,— Full fed in all its nature needs, and showing That nature is perfection by its growing. But follow the persistent tree To the limit of endless snow There you may see what a birch can be! The product showeth plain and free How nobly plants can grow With nine months’ winter slow. ’Tis fitted to survive in that position, Developed by the force of bad condition. See now what life the tree doth keep,— Branchless, three-leaved, and tough; In June the leaf-buds peep, flowers in July dare creep To bloom, the fruit in August, and then sleep. Strong is the tree and rough, It lives, and that’s enough. “Dog’s ear” the name the peasants call it by— A Norway birch—and less than one inch high! . . . . . . . . That silver monarch of the summer wood, Tall, straight, and lovely, rich in all things good, Knew not in his perversity The sweet uses of adversity. Connoisseurs “No,” said the Cultured Critic, gazing haughtily Whereon some untrained brush had wandered naughtily, From canons free; “Work such as this lacks value and perspective, Has no real feeling,—inner or reflective,— Does not appeal to me.” Then quoth the vulgar, knowing art but meagerly, Their unbesought opinions airing eagerly, “What, ain’t that flat?” Voicing their ignorance all unconcernedly, Saying of what the Critic scorned so learnedly, “I don’t like that!” The Critic now vouchsafed approval sparingly Of what some genius had attempted daringly, “This fellow tries; He handles his conception frankly, feelingly. Such work as this, done strongly and appealingly, I recognize.” T H E WOR L D | 63 The vulgar, gazing widely and unknowingly, Still volunteered their cheap impressions flowingly, “Oh, come and see!” But all that they could say of art’s reality Was this poor voice of poorer personality, “Now, that suits me!” Technique Cometh to-day the very skilful man; Profoundly skilful in his chosen art; All things that other men can do he can, And so them better. He is very smart. Sayeth, “My work is here before you all; Come now with duly cultured mind to view it. Here is great work, no part of it is small; Perceive how well I do it! “I do it to perfection. Studious years Were spent to reach the pinnacle I’ve won; Labor and thought are in my work, and tears. Behold how well ’tis done! “See with what power this great effect is shown; See with what ease you get the main idea; A master in my art, I stand alone; Now you may praise,—I hear.” And I, O master, I perceive your sway, I note the years of study, toil, and strain That brought the easy power you wield to-day, The height you now attain. “Freely your well-trained power I see you spend, Such skill in all my life I never saw; You have done nobly; but, my able friend, What have you done it for? “You have no doubt achieved your dearest end: Your work is faultless to the cultured view. You do it well, but, O my able friend, What is it that you do?” The Pastellette65 “The pastille is too strong,” said he “Lo! I will make it fainter yet!” And he wrought with tepid ecstasy A pastellette. ...

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