I do what many dream of, all their lives, - Dream? strive to do, and agonize to do, And fail in doing. I could count twenty such On twice your fingers, and not leave this town, Who strive - you don't know how the others strive To paint a little thing like that you smeared Carelessly passing with your robes afloat - Yet do much less, so much less, Someone says, (I know his name, no matter) - so much less! Well, less is more, Lucrezia: I am judged. There burns a truer light of God in them, In their vexed beating stuffed and stopped-up brain, Heart, or whate'er else, than goes on to prompt This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of mine.