“Father and friend and teacher most sublime,
You, who have guided my uncertain steps
Across the stony, steep and winding road
That leads men to the dizzy heights of fame,
Upon your soul’s salvation, answer me!
You saw my work, the statue hewn of stone.
I placed therein all that my soul could feel;
My pains, my daring flight, my starry dreams,
And all the strength and fervor of my youth;
My very thoughts, my all, I placed therein.
My soul possessed a daring, mighty dream.
It would attain what cannot be attained
By any mortal man upon this earth . . .
I would create a perfect work of art.
These haughty words, perhaps, are blasphemy?
Perhaps you’ll say to me, “Such perfect work
Can only rise from out the deep unknown
From whence the world bloomed as a lotus bud;
That faultless is alone the work of God
To whom it is a sacred privilege.”
Then why did he inculcate in my soul
This boundless yearning, striving for the heights?
He did not light the spark of genius
That it should smoulder in me aimlessly,
As an eternal torment? No. He chose
That it should flare forth as the glowing sun!
I know my hands fashioned all they could,
The highest point that I can aspire to;
And heights to which my spirit has not soared,
I shall not reach nor ever more attain!
My master see, I humbly bow my head.
Now let your lips their judgment freely pass.
Tell me if perfect is the work I have done.
If not, what is it that my statue lacks?”
When Donnatello finished thus his plea,
The master placed a kiss upon his lips;
He deeply gazed into the youth’s sad eyes
And with a gentle smile thus answered him.
“My Donnatello, you, not I, have said
That God alone creates without a fault.
There is but one thing that your marble lacks . . .
I will not tell you what. That you must solve,
When you have found the answer come again to me.”
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