Had Courbet paid attention to his art,
And less to posing in the Paris mart,
And left the Vendome Column on its base,
And taught his truthful tongue a saving grace,
And travelled in the straight and narrow way —
He might have wrought some pictures in his day.
He loved the swinging Seas in shine and storm,
And limned one Wave that lives — in flawless form.

There's rue for those who seek achievement high,
And yet, en route to Failure, fall and die;
But justice, too, altho' they " do their best,"
For Time shall put their methods to the test
Of cruel competition with the few —
The masters, who have taught us something new.

And better those whom sound convention bends,
Than he who on a good intent depends;
But who, without the wit to frame a plan —
And lacking grace to follow those who can —
Learns in the quiet of his sunset hour
The mournful lesson of misguided pow'r.

The master also may at first collate,
And bid Invention upon Knowledge wait;
Take note of workers who have passed away,
Whose simple styles a study will repay,
And mark the faults that dragged the witless down
Ere they could reach and reap a just renown.