Accident In Art

What painter has not with a careless smutch Accomplished his despair?--one touch revealing All he had put of life, thought, vigor, feeling, Into the canvas that without that touch Showed of his love and labor just so much Raw pigment, scarce a scrap of soul concealing! What poet has not found his spirit kneeling A-sudden at the sound of such or such Strange verses staring from his manuscript, Written he knows not how, but which will sound Like trumpets down the years? So Accident Itself unmasks the likeness of Intent, And ever in blind Chance's darkest crypt The shrine-lamp of God's purposing is found.