In placid hours well-pleased we dream
Of many a brave unbodied dream.
But form to lend, pulsed life create,
What unlike things must meet and mate;
A flame to melt—a wind to freeze;
Sad patience—joyous energies;
Humility—yet pride and scorn;
Instinct and study; love and hate
Audacity—reverence. These things must mate,
And fuse with Jacob’s mystic heart,
To wrestle with the Angel—Art.