 | New Poems |  |
153
DIZAIN.
Artist in verse, to whom the world appearsMost real, and yet the mirrored form of truth,
From whom alone the wasteful lapse of years
Robs nothing of earth's beauty or her youth,
Be grave, but joyous, with no taint of ruth,
For thou canst make an April shower of tears
Immortal, and so lull the aching ears
Of grief, that she shall laugh in time to come,
When her own melancholy voice she hears
Grown sweet on lips that never can be dumb.
| New Poems | |