Dramatic Romances and Lyrics.
And making new hearts beat and bosoms swell,
As still to Pope and Kaiser, South, and North,
Bound for the calmly satisfied great State,
Or glad aspiring little burgh, it went,
Flowers cast upon the car which bore the freight
Through old streets named afresh from the event,
—Of reaching thus my home, where Age should greet
My face, and Youth, the star as yet distinct
Above his hair, lie learning at my feet,—
Oh, thus to live, I and my pictures, linked
With love about, and praise, till life should end,
And then not go to Heaven but linger here,
Here on my earth, it's every man my friend,—
Oh, that grows frightful, 'tis so wildly dear!
But a voice changed it. Glimpses of such sights
Have scared me, like the revels thro' a door
Of some strange House of Idols at its rites;
This world seemed not the world it was before!
Mixed with my loving ones there trooped—for what?
Who summoned those cold faces which begun
To press on me and judge me? As asquat
And shrinking from the soldiery a nun,
They drew me forth, and spite of me . . enough!
These buy and sell our pictures, take and give,
Count them for garniture and household-stuff,
And where they live needs must our pictures live,
And see their faces, listen to their prate,
Partakers of their daily pettiness,
Discussed of,—"This I love or this I hate,
This likes me more and this affects me less!"
Wherefore I choose my portion. If at whiles
My heart sinks as monotonous I paint
As still to Pope and Kaiser, South, and North,
Bound for the calmly satisfied great State,
Or glad aspiring little burgh, it went,
Flowers cast upon the car which bore the freight
Through old streets named afresh from the event,
—Of reaching thus my home, where Age should greet
My face, and Youth, the star as yet distinct
Above his hair, lie learning at my feet,—
Oh, thus to live, I and my pictures, linked
With love about, and praise, till life should end,
And then not go to Heaven but linger here,
Here on my earth, it's every man my friend,—
Oh, that grows frightful, 'tis so wildly dear!
But a voice changed it. Glimpses of such sights
Have scared me, like the revels thro' a door
Of some strange House of Idols at its rites;
This world seemed not the world it was before!
Mixed with my loving ones there trooped—for what?
Who summoned those cold faces which begun
To press on me and judge me? As asquat
And shrinking from the soldiery a nun,
They drew me forth, and spite of me . . enough!
These buy and sell our pictures, take and give,
Count them for garniture and household-stuff,
And where they live needs must our pictures live,
And see their faces, listen to their prate,
Partakers of their daily pettiness,
Discussed of,—"This I love or this I hate,
This likes me more and this affects me less!"
Wherefore I choose my portion. If at whiles
My heart sinks as monotonous I paint
