Читать книгу Legends and Lyrics. Part 1 - Procter Adelaide Anne - Страница 6

Stand this way – more near the window —

By my desk – you see the light

Falling on my picture better —

Thus I see it while I write!

Who the head may be I know not,

But it has a student air;

With a look half sad, half stately,

Grave sweet eyes and flowing hair.

Little care I who the painter,

How obscure a name he bore;

Nor, when some have named Velasquez,

Did I value it the more.

As it is, I would not give it

For the rarest piece of art;

It has dwelt with me, and listened

To the secrets of my heart.

Many a time, when to my garret,

Weary, I returned at night,

It has seemed to look a welcome

That has made my poor room bright.

Many a time, when ill and sleepless,

I have watched the quivering gleam

Of my lamp upon that picture,

Till it faded in my dream.

When dark days have come, and friendship

Worthless seemed, and life in vain,

That bright friendly smile has sent me

Boldly to my task again.

Sometimes when hard need has pressed me

To bow down where I despise,

I have read stern words of counsel

In those sad reproachful eyes.

Nothing that my brain imagined,

Or my weary hand has wrought,

But it watched the dim Idea

Spring forth into armèd Thought.

It has smiled on my successes,

Raised me when my hopes were low,

And by turns has looked upon me

With all the loving eyes I know.

Do you wonder that my picture

Has become so like a friend? —

It has seen my life’s beginnings,

It shall stay and cheer the end!