The Picture Gallery.
47
Then weep not o'er the portraits there,
The dead and gone, the loved, the dear;
But if thou wilt, consider long
The sweetest landscape these among.
The dead and gone, the loved, the dear;
But if thou wilt, consider long
The sweetest landscape these among.
THE PLACE.
'Tis a valley clasped in hills,
Stitched with countless silver rills,
Chesnut forests, dark and green,
Tuscan tint, and sun-loved scene.
Stitched with countless silver rills,
Chesnut forests, dark and green,
Tuscan tint, and sun-loved scene.
There an ancient palace hid
Cypresses and vines amid,
Where grim shadows of the past,
Elf-like dance, when clouds o'ercast.
Cypresses and vines amid,
Where grim shadows of the past,
Elf-like dance, when clouds o'ercast.
THE PORTRAIT.
'Twas here that first a moon-lit face
Broke through the clouds that o'er
My earthly way were gathering,
I said "For evermore."
Broke through the clouds that o'er
My earthly way were gathering,
I said "For evermore."
That face so true and beautiful,
I love, yet now it seems
Too lovely for this saddened world,—
A face one sees in dreams.
I love, yet now it seems
Too lovely for this saddened world,—
A face one sees in dreams.
