WE JUDGE OTHERS BY OURSELVES.
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Here within this golden grove, Paved with many a purple flower, Here I sit and wait my love Through the May-day's parting hour. Where the budding gnomons throw Lengthening shadows far and near, Mute I sit as man of snow, Till my darling's voice I hear. Ah! your mirth my passion stirs, Mine who am so old and frail; Bear with me, O lusty sirs! For my love's the nightingale. |
THE LAY FIGURE.
Vanità che par persona.—Dante, Inf. 6.
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There smirks in many a painter's room, With padded limbs and varnished face, A quaint machine that can assume Each attitude that art would trace. This doll adult, when featly tired, Can all that's great or fair display, Warrior, or dame, or saint inspired, Prince, troubadour, or lovely may. And far beyond the studio's bound, In court and camp, in church or mart, Living machines like this are found, Which lure the eye but mock the heart. On wooden-headed soulless guys We see such draping splendours thrust; But raise the robe, and all surprise Closes in pity and disgust. |