YES; when the ways oppose? 
 When the hard means rebel, 
Fairer the work out-grows,? 
 More potent far the spell. 
 
O Poet, then, forbear 
 The loosely-sandalled verse, 
Choose rather thou to wear 
 The buskin?strait and terse; 
 
Leave to the tiro?s hand 
 The limp and shapeless style;
See that thy form demand 
 The labor of the file. 
 
Sculptor, do thou discard 
 The yielding clay,?consign 
To Paros marble hard 
 The beauty of thy line;? 
 
Model thy Satyr?s face 
 For bronze of Syracuse; 
In the veined agate trace 
 The profile of thy Muse. 
 
Painter, that still must mix 
 But transient tints anew, 
Thou in the furnace fix 
 The firm enamel?s hue; 
 
Let the smooth tile receive
 Thy dove-drawn Erycine; 
Thy Sirens blue at eve 
 Coiled in a wash of wine. 
 
All passes. Art alone 
 Enduring stays to us; 
The Bust outlasts the throne,? 
 The Coin, Tiberius; 
 
Even the gods must go; 
 Only the lofty Rhyme 
Not countless years o?erthrow,? 
 Not long array of time. 
 
Paint, chisel, then, or write; 
 But, that the work surpass, 
With the hard fashion fight,? 
 With the resisting mass.