in the art-palace on green isar's strand,

before one picture long i kept my seat,

it held me spellbound by some magic band,

nor when my home i sought, could i forget.

a year elapsed, came winter's frost and snow,

'twas rarely now we saw the bright sun shine,

i plucked up courage and cried: "be it so!"

then southward wandered with those i call mine.

like birds of passage built we there a nest

on a palm-shaded shore, all steeped in light,

life was a holiday, enjoyed with zest

and grateful hearts, the while it winged its flight.

oft on the sea's wide purplish-blue expanse,

with ever new delight i fixed my eyes,

alma tadema's picture, at each glance

recalled to mind, a thousand times would rise.

once a day dawned, glad as a bride's fair face,

perfume, and light, and joy it did enfold,

then-without search, flitted from out of space

words for the tale that my friend's picture told.