 | [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
THE RUSTIC PAINTER.
His sheep went idly over the hills,—
Idly down and up,—
As he sat and painted his sweetheart's face
On a little ivory cup.
Idly down and up,—
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On a little ivory cup.
All round him roses lay in the grass
That were hardly out of buds;
For sake of her mouth and cheek, I knew
He had murdered them in the woods.
That were hardly out of buds;
For sake of her mouth and cheek, I knew
He had murdered them in the woods.
The ant, that good little housekeeper,
Was not at work so hard;
And yet the semblance of a smile
Was all of his reward:
Was not at work so hard;
And yet the semblance of a smile
Was all of his reward:
And the golden-belted gentleman
That travels in the air,
Hummed not so sweet to the clover-buds
As he to his picture there.
That travels in the air,
Hummed not so sweet to the clover-buds
As he to his picture there.
The while for his ivory cup he made
An easel of his knee,
And painted his little sweetheart's face
Truly and tenderly.
An easel of his knee,
And painted his little sweetheart's face
Truly and tenderly.
Thus we are marking on all our work
Whatever we have of grace;
As the rustic painted his ivory cup
With his little sweetheart's face.
Whatever we have of grace;
As the rustic painted his ivory cup
With his little sweetheart's face.
| [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |