Happy Artists
To make it glow; I tried my utmost skill,
A foot I drew, a heel—with that 'twas broken.
A foot I drew, a heel—with that 'twas broken.
Paris I wept not for, but jealous, lonely,
I bade farewell to that gay artist set,
Who with small genius of the soul had yet
A genius gathered in the eye-sight only.
I bade farewell to that gay artist set,
Who with small genius of the soul had yet
A genius gathered in the eye-sight only.
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