An Art Master

He gathered cherry-stones, and carved them quaintly Into fine semblances of flies and flowers; With subtle skill, he even imaged faintly The forms of tiny maids and ivied towers. His little blocks he loved to file and polish; And ampler means he asked not, but despised. All art but cherry-stones he would abolish, For then his genius would be rightly prized. For such rude hands as dealt with wrongs and passions, And throbbing hearts, he had a pitying smile; Serene his way through surging years and fashions, While Heaven gave him his cherry-stones and file!

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