Minuscula Lyrics of Nature, Art and Love. By Francis William Bourdillon |
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II
Thy face should be a Tintoret's despair;
Nor Raphael nor Leonardo could,
Limning thy beauty on their lifeless wood,
Reveal thyself that art chief beauty there.
Though all the world before thy picture stood,
And called it beautiful beyond compare,
I only might stand by in bitter mood,
Searching that fair face for the self more fair.
Nor Raphael nor Leonardo could,
Limning thy beauty on their lifeless wood,
Reveal thyself that art chief beauty there.
Though all the world before thy picture stood,
And called it beautiful beyond compare,
I only might stand by in bitter mood,
Searching that fair face for the self more fair.
Swift clouds they paint, winds blowing, seas in madness,
The lightning's flashing, and the rainbow's sheen;
Thee may they paint, as some men see and hear thee;
But who can give the glory, who the gladness,
The hope, the sanctity, that is not seen,
But streams into my soul when I am near thee?
The lightning's flashing, and the rainbow's sheen;
Thee may they paint, as some men see and hear thee;
But who can give the glory, who the gladness,
The hope, the sanctity, that is not seen,
But streams into my soul when I am near thee?
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