In placid hours well-pleased we dream
Of many a brave unbodied scheme.
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 must mate,
And fuse with Jacob’s mystic heart,
To wrestle with the angel–Art.

Analysis, meaning and summary of Herman Melville's poem Art

1 Comment

  1. Ann Grenier says:

    Yes an angel,holy spirit – present – brushing fingers on my keyboard as tears fall/laughter rings when I make the mystic case: there is no hell.

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