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!