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EGO DOMINUS TUUS
Ille
By the help of an image
I call to my own opposite, summon all
That I have handled least, least looked upon.
Hic
And I would find myself and not an image.
Ille
That is our modern hope and by its light
We have lit upon the gentle, sensitive mind
And lost the old nonchalance of the hand;
Whether we have chosen chisel, pen or brush
We are but critics, or but half create,
Timid, entangled, empty and abashed
Lacking the countenance of our friends.
