MY ARTIST.[A. V. P.—Nat. 1864.]
So slight, and just a little vain
Of eyes and amber-tinted hair
Such as you will not see again—
To watch him at the window there,
Why, you would not suspect, I say,
The rising rival of Doré.
Of eyes and amber-tinted hair
Such as you will not see again—
To watch him at the window there,
Why, you would not suspect, I say,
The rising rival of Doré.
No sullen lord of foreign verse
Such as great Dante yet he knows;
No wandering Jew's long legend-curse
On his light hand its darkness throws;
Nor has the Bible suffered much,
So far, from his-irreverent touch.
Such as great Dante yet he knows;
No wandering Jew's long legend-curse
On his light hand its darkness throws;
Nor has the Bible suffered much,
So far, from his-irreverent touch.
Yet, can his restless pencil lack
A master Fancy, weird and strong
In black-and-white—but chiefly black!—
When at its call such horrors throng?
A master Fancy, weird and strong
In black-and-white—but chiefly black!—
When at its call such horrors throng?
