As the ambitious sculptor, tireless, lifts
Chisel and hammer to the block at hand,
Before my half-formed character I stand
And ply the shining tools of mental gifts.
I'll cut away a huge, unsightly side
Of selfishness, and smooth to curves of grace
The angles of ill-temper.
And no trace
Shall my sure hammer leave of silly pride.
Chip after chip must fall from vain desires,
And the sharp corners of my discontent
Be rounded into symmetry, and lent
Great harmony by faith that never tires.
Unfinished still, I must toil on and on,
Till the pale critic, Death, shall say, ''Tis done.'
'Tis done.' Indeed. Ella's beat, rhythm and flow are more than just magical. They like her inspire. Her originality in her thought processes bowl me over, a true poetess and one of a kind. And so sadly missed. Sleep well dear Ella. Sleep well.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What Is The Main Theme Of The Poem The Sculpture