The audience entire seemed pleased--indeed <br />_Extremely_ pleased. And little Maymie, freed <br />From her task of instructing, ran to show <br />Her wondrous colored picture to and fro <br />Among the company. <br /> <br />'And how comes it,' said <br />Some one to Mr. Hammond, 'that, instead <br />Of the inventor's life you did not choose <br />The _artist's?_--since the world can better lose <br />A cutting-box or reaper than it can <br />A noble picture painted by a man <br />Endowed with gifts this drawing would suggest'-- <br />Holding the picture up to show the rest. <br />'_There now!_' chimed in the wife, her pale face lit <br />Like winter snow with sunrise over it,-- <br />'That's what _I'm_ always asking him.--But _he_-- <br />_Well_, as he's answering _you_, he answers _me_,-- <br />With that same silent, suffocating smile <br />He's wearing now!' <br /> <br />For quite a little while <br />No further speech from anyone, although <br />All looked at Mr. Hammond and that slow, <br />Immutable, mild smile of his. And then <br />The encouraged querist asked him yet again <br />_Why was it_, and etcetera--with all <br />The rest, expectant, waiting 'round the wall,-- <br />Until the gentle Mr. Hammond said <br />He'd answer with a '_parable_,' instead-- <br />About 'a dreamer' that he used to know-- <br />'An artist'--'master'--_all_--in _embryo_.<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/limitations-of-genius/
