Explore "Gaspar Becerra" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
By his evening fire the artist / Pondered o'er his secret shame; / Baffled, weary, and disheartened, / Still he mused, and dreamed of fame.
'T was an image of the Virgin / That had tasked his utmost skill; / But, alas! his fair ideal / Vanished and escaped him still.
From a distant Eastern island / Had the precious wood been brought / Day and night the anxious master / At his toil untiring wrought;
Till, discouraged and desponding, / Sat he now in shadows deep, / And the day's humiliation / Found oblivion in sleep.
Then a voice cried, "Rise, O master! / From the burning brand of oak / Shape the thought that stirs within thee! " / And the startled artist woke, --
Woke, and from the smoking embers / Seized and quenched the glowing wood; / And therefrom he carved an image, / And he saw that it was good.
O thou sculptor, painter, poet! / Take this lesson to thy heart: / That is best which lieth nearest; / Shape from that thy work of art.