The following poem by Alice Elliot appears full-page opposite this photograph by Nichol Elliot, Noon, Venice:

The Artist.

SOME flying gleam or shade, a smile, a glance,
Blossom or cloud, elusive human grace,
The charm that sudden lights a woman’s face,
Waves, mist-wreaths, ⎯miracles of happy chance ⎯
In fleet-winged glory whisper earth’s romance,
And urge the artist soul on Beauty’s chase,
Alert, o’erjoyed, at every airy trace, ⎯
Bliss crowned if one dear glimpse the toil enhance.

Joy of the lure, the trail, the flash sublime
Of thought, of sight! Joy, joy of shaping pow’r, ⎯
Though ever lagging wingless in the rear!
This is that seeks Eternity, not Time,
To crown th’ ideals of earth’s fleeting hour, ⎯
Creative rapture, Life Divine most near!