A Wondrous Marble Once a Sculptor Bought for Carving

A wondrous marble once a sculptor bought
For carving.
"Whether I make a god, or a table,
Or a vessel for washing, —
It shall be a god! Let the sovereign
Hold thunderbolts in his hands!
Fall to the dust, you mortals, —
Behold the master of the universe!"
So marvellously did the sculptor's hand
Carve the image of the deity
That only speech was lacking to it,
In the opinion of the majority.
And, they say, scarcely had the Carver
Finished his great labour,
Than before his creation the creator
Was the first to bow his head.
With the artist the poet is subject
To the same weakness:
He dreads the wrath and the vengeance
Of gods that he himself has summoned into the world!
Are not children just such,
In their innocent weaknesses,
Fearing most of all in the world
To rouse the anger of their doll?
The mind follows the heart freely:
And so in former times
The wave of paganism spread
Among all peoples everywhere.
Each cherishes his own chimera
With the deep tenderness of a father,
Pygmalion loved Venus,
The creation of his chisel.
We all, as far as our strength allows,
Grant life to our own dream;
We love falsehood with mad ardour,
And toward truth we are colder than ice.

Literal translation

Jean de La Fontaine, "The Sculptor and the Statue of Jupiter"