And when my courage faileth me, once more Of thee, my friend most noble, do I think. At thy soul's fire my love of work is warmed; Thy spirit-light awakes my faith anew.
Oh, thou art here.... Impatiently I craved Thy coming, yet I marked not thine approach!
I must rejoice to find my friend so wrapt In work as to forget his friend herself.
Nay, speak not thus, since thou dost know full well That I cannot create one single thought Which hath not first been hallowed by thine aid. No work of mine owes not its life to thee. Through thy love's fire have I been purified; Through thee my art hath learned to represent The beauty of the truths revealed to thee, Which warm my heart, illuminate my sense, And clothe in radiant light the spirit-world. The current of my work must take its rise From thy soul's spring and flow thence into mine, Ere I can feel the wings that lift me up To lofty heights of spirit, far from earth. I love the life that quickens in thy soul, And, loving it, can give it form and hue. Love only can beget artistic power And make an artist's work bear fruit and live. If I, as artist, am to carry back Pictures of spirit to the world of sense, Then cosmic spirit must speak forth through me, My personality be but its tool. I must first burst the bonds of selfishness Ere I can know that I shall not mistake For spirit-worlds my own vain fantasies.
And if thou hadst to seek through thine own sight And not through mine the true source of thy work, It might well be that, coming from one soul Thy dream of beauty might be unified.
I should be spinning webs of idle thought In speculating which I should prefer: Whether to incarnate thy spirit-sight, Or in myself to seek my vision's source.-- I am convinced I could not find it thus.
I can withdraw to deep retreats of soul And find delight in wide-flung spirit-worlds: I can be lost to all the world of sense And follow colour-wonders with mine eye And watch creative energies at work, If I am left with mine own soul alone. Whate'er may thus befall me I am not Thereby impelled to my creative art. But if I follow thee to cosmic heights, And in warm rapture live again what thou Already hast in spirit there beheld, Then in my spirit-sight I feel a fire Which burns on in me also, and whose flames Kindle the powers that drive me to my work.