i have a beautiful picture;

and gorgeous are its dyes,

wherein the green of the meadows

blends with the blue of the skies.

a forest stands in the background;

and hills are at the sides;

and a valley lies between them,

through which a streamlet glides.

there are fields that teem with a harvest

of rich and ripening grain,

that has caught the glow of the sunlight,

and will not return it again;—

there are broad and spacious pastures,

where the quiet cattle stray,

and the schoolboys meet to play at ball

on their weekly holiday;—

[225]

while here and there a cottage

peeps out from the leafy lane;

and through the trees you can catch a glimpse

of the farmer with his wain.

and out in the dark old forest

there is many a stately tree,

that has seen the green leaves come and go

for more than a century.

i have heard of the ancient masters,

i have heard of their marvellous skill,

and how the dull, dead canvas

would glow with life at their will;—

but, when the sunshine falleth

the rifts of the cloudlets through,

it lends to my picture a glory

that raphael never knew.

and, when the solemn moonlight

looks down with its mellow shine,

my picture is bathed in beauty

that seemeth almost divine.

[226]

and whenever i gaze at my picture,

whether sun or stars light the sky,

i feel that my spirit is strengthened,

and my heart is made richer thereby.