Poems (Botta)/Durand

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Upon his canvas Nature starts to life, Clear waters flow, majestic trees arise,— The earth and air with beauty’s shapes are rife, And over all there bend his glorious skies.

Yes, this is Nature—living, breathing, warm, Ere yet her face the blight and storm have crossed; Yes, this is Nature, in that radiant form She wore of old, ere Paradise was lost.