Emerson pictures Virtue as a wild, star-gazing figure who won’t sit still for any poet trying to capture her. She runs ahead of the muse, completely absorbed in something higher, and refuses to parade her beauty just to satisfy artistic pride. The speaker feels the futility of trying to master or manipulate such goodness with mere skill. A real shift happens when the poet gives up his own agenda—throws away his pen and paint, kneels with the true worshippers, and simply honors her. The mood is hushed and reverent, like watching dawn break. Only then, maybe, a sudden flash of heavenly light repays the loss, and what comes back is better than any tool he surrendered. It’s a quiet, almost mystical argument that creative vision depends on humility, not control.
Loss And Gain — Summary
Virtue runs before the muse And defies her skill, She is rapt, and doth refuse To wait a painter's will.
Star-adoring, occupied, Virtue cannot bend her, Just to please a poet's pride, To parade her splendor.
The bard must be with good intent No more his, but hers, Throw away his pen and paint, Kneel with worshippers.
Then, perchance, a sunny ray From the heaven of fire, His lost tools may over-pay, And better his desire.