THE POET TO THE ARTIST
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THE POET TO THE ARTIST
(To E. A. M.)
You painted a beautiful picture And sent it a gift to me; So I will write you a poem,—But what shall the poem be? Your picture, like beautiful sunset So brilliant, will ever be praised,— But my poem will be like a cipher That some rude, reckless hand has erased!
Your picture seemed "Tidings of Gladness," —As the beautiful rainbow will cast Its bright, glowing tints on the billows Of clouds when the tempest is past. Like the unbounded depth of the Ocean Is the gratitude felt.—for your gift Was like rending dark storm-clouds asunder "When a sunbeam shines bright thro' the rift.
Your picture was eagerly welcomed, —As the first rosy tints of the dawn Are welcomed by vigilant watchers When the curtains of Night are withdrawn.
