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 | Temple House |  |
Dedication
To
S. R. G.
S. R. G.
ARTIST.
To me, imprisoned, by the hand of art
You bring the clouded mountains, my desire,
The tranquil river, and the unquiet sea,
The far, vast morning, and the crimson eve,
And silent days, that brood among thick leaves,
When, in the afternoon, the summer sun
Is sleeping in the hazy, yellow west;
And my soul's atmosphere grows like the scene.
For though acquainted still with misery,
I dream that all the boundaries of my days
Contain the unknown, veilèd happiness.
Therefore, my friend, to show my gratitude,
I offer you these pictures, drawn from thought,
With all the art I have—in black and white.
You bring the clouded mountains, my desire,
The tranquil river, and the unquiet sea,
The far, vast morning, and the crimson eve,
And silent days, that brood among thick leaves,
When, in the afternoon, the summer sun
Is sleeping in the hazy, yellow west;
And my soul's atmosphere grows like the scene.
For though acquainted still with misery,
I dream that all the boundaries of my days
Contain the unknown, veilèd happiness.
Therefore, my friend, to show my gratitude,
I offer you these pictures, drawn from thought,
With all the art I have—in black and white.
E. D. B. S.
New York, May 5th, 1867.
| Temple House | |