Madmoments: or First Verseattempts By a Bornnatural. Addressed to the Lightheaded of Society at Large, by Henry Ellison |
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THE PAINTER. |
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 | Madmoments: or First Verseattempts |  |
THE PAINTER.
His Lovetask's done, his task of young delight,His wide domain of pleasure, pleasure brought
By Hope from a far Future, richly fraught
With golden dreams, that Time, alas! may blight;
Bedtime arrives, yet still he feasts his sight
On his loved picture, nor can think of aught
Besides: with many a wistful glance 'tis sought
E're visioned sleep upon his lids can light;
These are the Names for Immortality:
Of such stuff are they made upon whose brows
The Muses bind their wreaths: they have no eye
For the world's pelf and pleasures, their heart knows
But one high hope, which failing they must die,
From their own breasts the world they seek for grows!
| Madmoments: or First Verseattempts | |