 | The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith |  |
On a forehead massive
Brooded thought serene;
Seemed his face impassive,
And features sharp and lean—
Features thin and pale and lean;
Fingers long and steady
Held pencil ever ready
For some new machine
Shaping in his brain, I ween.
And her restless fingers twitched
As he brooded on, and sketched,
And the fisher-women gazed
From the sand-dunes, numb and dazed;
But he neither felt nor wondered
At the anguish of their pain,
Only silent sat, and pondered!
Tracing o'er and o'er again
Novel figures from his brain.
So he often found relief
From the bitter thought of grief
Which his heart was keen to feel,
But his hand was weak to heal;
And the world was all forgot
In his novel forms of thought,
Though its passion and its pain
Gave the hint on which he wrought.
Brooded thought serene;
Seemed his face impassive,
And features sharp and lean—
Features thin and pale and lean;
Fingers long and steady
Held pencil ever ready
For some new machine
Shaping in his brain, I ween.
And her restless fingers twitched
As he brooded on, and sketched,
And the fisher-women gazed
From the sand-dunes, numb and dazed;
But he neither felt nor wondered
At the anguish of their pain,
Only silent sat, and pondered!
Tracing o'er and o'er again
Novel figures from his brain.
So he often found relief
From the bitter thought of grief
Which his heart was keen to feel,
But his hand was weak to heal;
And the world was all forgot
In his novel forms of thought,
Though its passion and its pain
Gave the hint on which he wrought.
| The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith | |