valentines.
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O, what without thy sunny face,
Lit with the day-spring from above,
Were thine abode of song and grace,—
Art's fairy realm, joy's resting-place,—
Where now a sacred trio meet,
Power, innocence, contentment sweet,
Genius and infancy and love!
Lit with the day-spring from above,
Were thine abode of song and grace,—
Art's fairy realm, joy's resting-place,—
Where now a sacred trio meet,
Power, innocence, contentment sweet,
Genius and infancy and love!
TO THE WIFE OF AN ARTIST.
How like soft skies that bend at even
Italia's vales above,
Thy spirit's pure and tranquil heaven,
Illumed with stars of love!
Thy chosen one, no longer bound
Art's pilgrim, o'er the sea,
With Nature's self at home, hath found
His Italy in thee.
Italia's vales above,
Thy spirit's pure and tranquil heaven,
Illumed with stars of love!
Thy chosen one, no longer bound
Art's pilgrim, o'er the sea,
With Nature's self at home, hath found
His Italy in thee.
